The Many Adventures of Silver the Cat
by Meelu the Bold
Summary: While hunting an infamous assassin in the halls of Castle Renais, General Seth grapples with the iron grip of his midlife crisis, the slow submersion into insanity and the inexplicable urge to piddle on houseplants. Go kitty.
1. Monogrammed Mugs

_**The Many Adventures of Silver the Cat**_

_As written by Lady Erina of Renais Court_

**The First Chapter:**

"**Monogrammed Mugs for Organizational Purposes," or **

"**Silver the Cat Goes Through Hell."**

_Disclaimer: This story was retyped for you amusement and pleasure by Meelu the Bold. She does not own _Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones_ nor does she claim to. She does not even own the plot device of Lady Erina. _Fire Emblem_ belongs to the good people at Intelligent Systems and whatnot. Meelu the Bold is merely borrowing them, and promises to bring them back dry-cleaned._

"Why don't you just leave me alone?"

"I will once I'm sure you can be serious for once in your life!"

"Go away! Scat! Skedaddle!"

"You almost got killed, Forde! And you know why?"

Hoofbeats are loud. Rhythmic. And even if one _wants_ whisper an argument behind a superior officer's back, it's damn near impossible to remain unheard and still understand each other properly. Kyle snarled darkly as Forde rolled his eyes carelessly. Although General Seth couldn't see them, exactly, he could picture the scene clearly, in perfect crystalline detail.

"You're not my mother," Forde muttered crossly. "It was a lull in the battle! There was no one around for miles!"

"There was a skirmish raging on fifty feet away from you!" Kyle burst out, finally raising his voice to above-hoofbeat level.

"Sir Kyle, Sir Forde, this is neither the time nor place for such an argument," Seth called behind him, not bothering to turn. His voice sounded deceptively patient and impassive. "I know for certain that Sir Jaugh is looking for soldiers to help him clear out the south swamps. Perhaps you two would like to volunteer?"

Under normal circumstances, Kyle and Forde would have recognized the threat to be empty. Both knights were dependable and highly skilled, when one really needed them to be, and often times, Seth wondered what he'd do without two such invaluable officers. But the recruits and green cavaliers behind them sagged with exhaustion, the soldiers had been walking for days, the handful of qualified knights, including the bickering pair, had been worn out to the bone, with one very put-upon supply convoy behind them all, and nobody really wanted to challenge the man in charge, lest he finally snap and lop off an ear. Or a head. So, Kyle and Forde clamped shut their mouths and stared studiously at the King's Road ahead of them, occasionally glancing at the rolling hills in the distance, the ones blanketed in grass and livestock.

Zni'toli bandits, that'd been the name of the ragtag tribe of cutthroats. After the invasion, the war and the initial year of restoration, when the firm hand of King Ephraim II forced the swaggering highwaymen and robbers to their knees with stringent, routine patrols and punishments, most bandits either flat out left Renais all together, or holed up in the eastern ranges. The problem was that it was impossible to get to Jehanna through the mountains, so the eastern bandits could either starve or come back to haunt Renais.

And there was the new border to think about. For the first time, since the crowning of King Siegfried I, the first monarch of Renais, they had a border on the sea, taken from the former Empire of Grado. Said border extended for a few _thousand_ miles southwest, and included the infamous fortress, Rigwald. The newly founded republic of Gradia did not have a taste for defending such a vast territory. Many people thought that the loss of land was just, considering the devastation at the hands of the former Empire; Seth was beginning to think it was just a lot of work. And there were bandits there, too. The only good thing that came from tacking on this addition to the Royal Map hanging in the King's study was that the people were already so integrated it was actually _more_ convenient for the Grads to become Renaitians.

One bad season turns into five hard years, or so his brother-in-law, a farmer, often said.

But with the Zni'toli scourge put down and the borders all secured, thanks to many late nights of allocating and distributing the recovering army, the Silver Knight and the remaining squads were heading, happily, home to Castle Renais and the capital city.

"General, sir?" Forde piped up, interrupting his long, thoughtless reverie.

"Yes, Forde?"

"The sign back there, the one that said 'Castle Renais, twenty miles along the King's Road?'"

"What about it?" Seth craned his head momentarily to look back at the signs Ephraim ordered to be posted on interval along all the main highways.

"Er . . . the Painters' Guild messed the signs up, sir," Forde said in an uncomfortably tiny voice.

"One misspelling isn't going to end the world, Forde," Seth replied calmly, keeping his eyes focused on the horizon. To tell the truth, he hadn't even noticed the error.

"Well, that's true, sir, but . . . they've all been like that," the knight tugged at his collar nervously behind Seth's back. Kyle grimaced. "We've been traveling down the King's Rood for the last three hundred miles."

Seth sighed.

**..0..**

Castle Renais lay nestled in the jagged hillside with the city below it. At the moment, the setting sun crowned the ramparts with majestic halo that Seth normally took the time to admire, while attempting to navigate through the busy, half-rebuilt streets. A gaggle of architects in the square struggled to reassemble a toppled statue of King Siegfried, the replacement statue having just been finished.

Of course, no one could just _get_ to Castle Renais without incident. Or incidents, as it were.

Seth heard a crash, a woman's voice cuss brutally, and a young man cry out unexpectedly, followed by a chorus of "oh, _Albar!_" His heart sank.

Half of the boys had gotten stuck behind a fruit vendor's cart that suddenly rolled into another vendor's booth and two other carts. Albar, the boy in question, a curious combination of reckless, fearless melee warrior and shy, almost completely withdrawn civilian, froze up completely. His typically calm bay chose then to start bucking, sending Albar tumbling to the ground, scrambling out of the way. Two or three of the more competent riders managed to skirt out of the way and the rest escaped errant hooves out of sheer luck. Luck ended there, though, as the horse kicked one of the three carts. Fruit and wares scattered, and at least five thick-armed women were down on hands and knees to retrieve everything, clogging up the procession of knights and soldiers and horses.

"What were you thinking Albar?" shouted the majority of the young men behind him. Forde dismounted immediately and without any hesitation, reached out to calm the frantic bay. Perhaps it the rapidity of the effect was because Forde was so laidback himself; but whatever the cause, the horse soon became placid and rideable again.

"That's a good horsie," those nearby heard him murmur, stroking the bay's nose affectionately.

"Settle down, everyone," Seth commanded over the ruckus. Either he was invisible, or he was being ignored. Neither was acceptable "That's an order!"

The dozen young cavaliers, nothing like the dependable, upbeat young Franz, all stared at him attentively. Even Albar paid him close heed, and he was probably in great pain at this moment. Sliding easily from the back of his legendary black warhorse, Seth passed the reins to his current squire, a solidly skilled young man of seventeen years. Jake, if Seth remembered his name correctly.

"Is he alright?" Seth asked, picking his way around the carts. He addressed a more senior knight riding with the younger squires and junior knights. Sir Calvith, he remembered instantly, an armor knight.

"Can you stand, boy . . .?" Calvith asked gruffly, moving quickly in heavy armor to check on him. Albar groaned, and nodded timidly, as if speaking two words would break the ground beneath him. He demonstrated. Other than a nasty fall and what would become the most uncomfortable bruise ever, Albar was in no ill condition. "He's fine, sir. No permanent damage."

"You were very lucky," Seth admonished. Albar flushed and looked deeply ashamed. "Falls like that have killed sturdier men."

Albar mumbled something.

"What was that? I couldn't quite catch it," Seth leaned forward. Was Albar being shy again or was his hearing going?

"Speak up, boy!" Calvith punched the boy's shoulder, which only made him cringe.

"The . . . booth broke my fall, sir . . ." Albar mumbled a little more loudly. He gestured weakly to the cracked vendor's booth behind him. Seth took a deep breath before speaking again.

"Alright, then," Seth said, glancing at the chaos. "Let's get this cleared up."

Just as he said that, vicious looking trio of women approached Seth from the other side, led by the sort of woman who was commonly mistaken for a viper.

"Who's in charge here?" she snapped. Seth thought for a moment that she had fangs, too. "I just lost a whole day's profits to this little twit."

"Me, too!" one of the thicker women intoned. The second grunted in agreement.

"I am," Seth said, patient despite the stress. "What do you ladies need?"

Seth let her take a second or two to recognize him as _the_ Silver Knight; red hair, really shocking red hair like his, wasn't the garden variety in central Renais, except in the village of Palgo, where his own family resided. Viper Woman narrowed her eyes and set her jaw as soon as she set eyes on the triple pointed crest of the Crown.

"We _demand_ compensation," she declared boldly.

"A reasonable demand," Seth said guardedly. He gauged Viper Woman's reaction carefully. "How much do you think is necessary to cover damages incurred?"

"Fifty gold," Viper Woman said immediately. "Each."

Seth controlled the urge to choke at the number. He shook his head. "That's too much. From what I see, the only really crippling thing would be the booth my knight inadvertently destroyed, and that's but a table and baskets. Twenty-five each, with an extra five to the lady whose booth no longer stands."

"Forty-five each, with the five going to me," Viper Woman jerked a bony thumb to her chest. "That was my stand.

Ah. No wonder she was so infuriated.

"That's absurd. Thirty each," Seth insisted, staring the woman down. He kept his features neutral.

"Forty-five," Viper Woman shot back, crossing her arms. Suddenly, a young woman's shriek cut across the busy main street.

"_THIEF!_ _OH, THIEF!"_

Seth's head instinctively snapped to the source of the noise. Viper Woman and her cronies instantly reached for the money pouch at their belts. A slim, pretty woman was screaming her head off on the other side of the barricade of fruit-and-vegetable carts.

"Kyle, go!"

Said man had already bolted on the trail of what appeared to be a pint-sized thief, little more than a child. A watchman blew a whistle while Kyle outran the culprit in a few strides of his horse, wheeling in front of him in the most intimidating fashion. Two more watchmen came running from around a corner of a warehouse. Kyle took over easily. Seth turned back to Viper Woman, who was now nervously eyeing the space around her.

"Thirty or nothing," he said, cutting off whatever she was going to say. Seth stared her down with the sort of expression he wore while cutting through brigands. Grudgingly, Viper Woman realized defeat and accepted the still quite generous offer.

Seth picked his way back to his horse and dug in the saddlebags for the leather-bound logbook he kept, ripping a sheet out carefully. He scribbled the amount in near-illegible handwriting—calligraphy had never been a strong suit of his—and then signed his name underneath. He passed it to Viper Woman, and then wondered if she could read it.

"Just give that to the castle clerk whenever you find it convenient," he instructed, making a conscious effort to _help_ this hellish woman. "If you run into any trouble, you can tell them to take it to me. I'll vouch for you. Alright, Madam . . .?"

"Allisen," Viper Woman muttered, who seemed unimpressed.

"They should give you the right amount," Seth assured her. Allisen raised an eyebrow skeptically, but folded the paper carefully and placed it in her apron pocket. Heaving a sigh, Seth turned to get his men in order. Most of the vendors had their carts in order now. Forde had already seen Albar to his bay, and was waiting patiently for Seth. Everyone was present, except . . .

"I can't tell you how grateful I am!" gushed the maiden enthusiastically, leaning a little too closely for poor Kyle's comfort. She had a hold of his hand and was stroking the metal of his gauntlet quite seductively.

Seth stifled the urge to laugh and donned a very stern face as he strode towards the two.

"Madam, if you would please relinquish your hold on my knight," he began, tempted to extend his words. Forde was snickering loudly in the background. "You must have other duties to attend to."

The young woman's eyes widened momentarily, but she dropped Kyle's hands, much to the cavalier's relief. She ducked away, murmuring, "Yes, sir, of course, sir," all while blushing madly.

Forde chose this moment to appear with Kyle's horse, Griochnebobb, grinning like a damn fool.

"Good Gods, Kyle! Flirting with sweet, innocent maidens," the blonde knight teased cheerfully. "What _ever_ would your wife say?"

"Shut up," Kyle grumbled, snatching Grikey's reins. Lute had named the horse on the conditions that Kyle would name the as-of-yet-unborn baby. As Seth walked back to his own mount and Jake, he allowed himself a tired chuckle. Kyle's unexpected bride served as a source for much humor on the road, although out of habit, Seth made sure it stayed mostly tame and discreetly allowed him a little time every so often to break away and visit her.

He was only a little surprised when, a few streets away, on the outskirts of town, a nun of exceptional fire suddenly appeared in their path. This was the sort of day he'd been having, anyway. Seth suddenly felt inexplicably angry with the nun, as if she was deliberately obstructing the way just to aggravate him.

"I need to say a few words, General," she said, shaking a finger to emphasize her point.

". . . say them to your Gods," Seth suggested as kindly as he could, and wove around the indignant woman, as did the men following him. Her mouth wobbled, as if she was surprised that the Silver Knight, famous for listening to the plights of the citizen, had just brushed her off with a few strained words.

And now, he felt guilty, but the nun had disappeared already, probably to announce that the real General Seth had been kidnapped and replaced by a bad-tempered old man. Everyone behind him remained eerily silent about the exchange.

At long last, the weary men trudged up the winding, upward road to the gates of Castle Renais. The sky was quite dark now, with only the slimmest sliver of moon in the sky, and torches were being lit. Just inside the gate, Seth could see the guardsmen preparing close the gates, revealing the massive triple pointed crest painted there.

"I'm surprised they're still functional," Forde said offhandedly. Unlike most comments he made of that nature, this one was completely serious.

"Yes," Seth agreed heartily, relieved to be finally allowed to rest. The tense edge every man behind him had been keeping fled. "It is a miracle."

As the soldiers filed through under the suspended portcullis, Seth lingered behind to count heads. Amelia—Dame Amelia, he corrected himself, she was a knight of Renais now—scrunched around the men and the horses and jogged straight to him, taking care not to startle the more skittish of animals. Saluting sharply, Amelia began her rapidfire report. Her job as personal aide to King Ephraim meant a lot of running around and delivering messages.

"General Seth, you're back at last! The King needs to see you right away, there're all _sorts _of rumors floating around. Sir Garcia also wants to see you as soon as the King's done, something about mice in the barracks and re-drawing the budget for the new Navy and—" her voice cut off as Seth raised a hand, although her mouth hung open still. She waited for him to sift through all the new information and formulate a reply.

"Tell King Ephraim that I will be with him shortly," he said firmly. Really, what he wanted now was to sit down and maybe try to wash the grime and blood from his clothes and person. "And I'll see to Sir Garcia as soon as possible. But first, I need see to Johnny."

Seth patted the neck of his old black warhorse, partner of ten arduous years. Johnny flicked his ears at his name, and Seth smiled. One of them, at least, had a full night of sleep to look forward to. Was it normal to envy one's own horse?

Amelia darted back under the gate as Seth followed on Johnny. He gave the signal to lower the gate again as he dismounted, preferring to stand after five straight days of riding. The soldiers formed ranks in the courtyard, waiting for dismissal. With a few words of encouragement and an order to Albar to see the cleric in charge of the infirmary, he dismissed them all. Most, he knew, would be given jobs around the castle, or shuttled off to the lesser-manned stations along the border or where ever else Renais perennially needed her soldiers.

A Navy . . . Seth griped, realizing he knew very little about ships, having been born to a once landlocked country. He would have to study up a little before discussing anything at length with Garcia. He'd wait until Kyle was done occupying Lute's time, though, before demanding anything of the King's Librarian.

Johnny followed obediently behind him, waiting to be fed and groomed. Even if it meant that he went to sleep exhausted each night (or early morning), one good thing about being General was it meant that his horse got cared for first. Even so, he pointed the stableboy in the directions of the other mounted knight of superior rank and dismissed Jake entirely. Today, he would prefer to put off meeting with King Ephraim in favor of settling Johnny in for the night.

As he exited the stable a while later, the deep voice of a joyful, tall woman only three years younger than he called across the courtyard. "Seth!"

Seth turned around to face the exuberant redheaded woman, trying very hard not to look guilty.

"Good evening, Elsie," Seth greeted his little sister weakly. She bounded toward him, punching his arm playfully. Elspeth was the only sister of his so far to have taken up knighthood. Female knights, while not unheard of, were rather rare anyway.

"Don't give me that! How long has it been since you've been home?" Elspeth demanded. In the dim, faded torch- and sunlight, he could see a shadowy scar line her throat, disappearing in to her high collar. "Mum's worried sick, you know. And Beth is going nuts. She's going to have a baby!"

"What's that?" Seth asked, pointing to her scar. It unnerved him. As a child, he'd spent most of his time not studying history and swordplay and chivalry making sure that wild little Elsie survived to adulthood. Why on earth was she trying to undo all of that hard work?

"Hmm? Oh, this? I got this in the war, remember? Nearly got me," Elspeth shrugged carelessly. Why was she always such a child? "Unexpected axe knocked me right off my horse. Beth wants you to be the godfather."

"What?" Seth repeated dumbly.

"I told you, an axe. One of the dinky spinning ones. Hurt like all hell, it really did, but I was lucky the bastard had no real arm for it—"

"No, the other part," he clarified. Elspeth's mouth made an o.

"Bethy's having another baby," she said, slowly enunciating the words. "She wants to name you godfather."

"What? Why?" Seth asked incredulously. Alisabeth, the younger sister closest to him in age, had never been particularly fond of her only brother. He rather believed that she begrudged him for being the eldest.

"Because," Elspeth shrugged. "Only the Gods know what goes on in Bethy's head. Just try to be home soon. She's eight and a half months along already; the baby will be due any week now. Please? I'm heading home tomorrow morning. I can announce your visit, you'll have a bed ready and everything, please please please, Sethy? I'll even ask Mum to make that wretched spicy curry dish!"

Seth drew in a breath to say no. King Ephraim needed him in this time of restoration; there was still so much work to do, he was utterly swamped already, Mum had dozens of other mouths to feed, there was no time, no way, no . . .

"Of course I'll be there," he found himself saying with a smile. "Let's hope for another boy, alright? I don't like being all alone."

Elsie snickered. "Whatever!" Then, in a rare moment of actual affection from his sister, she hugged him, armor and all. "Thank you. It really means a lot to us. All of us."

Seth sighed, and hoped the King only needed him to draw up plans.

After seeing his sister to her room, Seth navigated his way to the King's study, which Ephraim had inherited from the late King Fado, rest his soul. He knocked to announce himself, and then just opened the door. Ephraim was his King, but before that he'd been somewhat of the younger brother that Seth never had.

"Milord?" Seth called, cracking open the door and poking his head through.

"Oh, Seth!" said a familiar man's voice. Apparently, he was the one buried in paperwork. A terrible fate for someone so rooted in action as King Ephraim. "Come in. I'm over here."

"I can't see you, milord," Seth said. He shut the door behind him and ventured into the study.

A wide window on the other side of the room revealed Renais City, lighting up for the night. Pushed up against a wall were two—not one, but _two_—mahogany desks, one heaped with haphazardly lain documents of varying importance and one very neatly and sparsely arranged, probably for penning things. It definitely didn't belong to the King. Ephraim sat on the floor between the two, squinting at the paper in his hand. The room was warmly lit by a multitude of candles nailed in fixtures on the walls and the building fire on the far end of the room.

Seth almost didn't notice the scullery girl at the fireplace, although she was blushing just as madly as the maiden in the City, the one who cornered Kyle. The only difference between the two women was that at least she was trying to _stifle_ her giggles. Seth didn't think too much of her—she looked exactly like every other servant in the castle, with long blondish hair tucked up into a bun and a plain blue dress with the crest printed on her sleeve.

"Good evening, sir," she curtseyed meekly, looking ready to burst out into peals of giggles. "Good night, milord. Good night, sir."

He acknowledged her respectfully, and waited until she left to sit down across from Ephraim, directly on the floor. It must be much freer on the rug, Seth supposed. The crown restrained Ephraim far more than the young man would have liked.

"When did that move in here?" he asked, pointing to the neat desk.

"Mm? Oh, that. That's Eirika's. She's got prettier handwriting than me _or_ Tal—my normal secretary, he's out on errands right now, I _think_—but she refuses to use my desk," Ephraim summarized off-handedly, signing his name at the bottom of the document with a distinct lack of a flourishes. The King turned up his head to grin at Seth, who bowed respectfully. "Says it's a pigsty. I'm not allowed to touch hers."

"Dame Amelia said you needed to speak with me about something, milord? She mentioned rumors," Seth leaned forward, sitting Jehan-style with his legs crossed.

"Yes," Ephraim said, removing the reading glasses from the bridge of his nose. Not many people knew that the King was farsighted or that even fifteen minutes of light reading made him complain of sore eyes. "In a few days, I'm going to be traveling to Rausten with an entourage of at the very least ten other prominent noblemen; yes, I know, that's a huge number, although I am trying to squelch it down. I'm thinking of issuing a limit on servants and luggage. Not only will it cut down on costs and security, it would _definitely_ discourage some of them from going . . . Eirika will be staying to look after things . . ."

"Rausten?" Seth asked, suddenly feeling like he was sinking in quicksand.

"Yes. We'll be staying for a few weeks while I discuss . . . important concerns . . . with Pontifex L'Arachel," Ephraim lowered his voice subtly. He avoided meeting Seth's eyes, which told the General that important concerns had a lot more to do with magic and ancient lore than with trade routes and current relations. "I need some witnesses and of course, a trustworthy head of security for travel. I have Sir Nolan and his assistant, Sir Franz, as my chief guardsmen here, but one of them will have to stay to manage the castle."

"I see," Seth resisted the fourth or fifth urge to heave a sigh today. Elspeth would have his head, since Beth was probably too incapacitated to do anything other than sit and cheer her sister on as she throttled him. Seth would have to wake up early and tell her the bad news before she left or mum's spicy curry would be eating through the table by the time he actually arrived. "Very well, your Majesty."

"Are you sure?" Ephraim asked, suddenly. "You look tired, Seth. Do you want to take a few days off to rest up?"

Say yes, the greedy little monster in his head said in a slinky, low voice. And then disappear for a few weeks. Go home. You've done your share of work. You've done years worth your share of work. Go home. See your sisters. Isn't this Alisabeth's third child? Her oldest must be almost eight now. Bethy doesn't _really_ hate you. You haven't seen your parents in ages. They're worried about you. Go home. Go home. Say yes. _Say yes_.

"I'm fine, milord. Long rides make anyone weary," Seth said calmly. "A night's rest will be enough to refresh me."

"Ah," Ephraim said simply, nodded. He reached out and clapped a hand on Seth's shoulder. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Seth."

"Thank you, your Majesty," Seth nodded, wondering what sort of mess he'd just entrenched himself in.

"Alright then. Go get some sleep," Ephraim said, stacking the documents he was looking at and tossing them in a corner. "We'll see to preparations first thing in the morning then. Good night, Seth."

"Good night, milord," he returned, not allowing himself to sound as completely worn out as he felt. Standing, he crossed the bedraggled study in a few strides and exited as quietly as possible. He hadn't taken three steps when he stopped again.

"Sir Seth," said a woman's voice, much different than Elsie's boisterously loud speech. Ah. Another complication.

"Princess Eirika," Seth turned around, digging deep into his reserves of personal willpower to keep a neutral expression. "Good evening, Eirika."

"Good evening," she smiled angelically.

Between the time he'd last seen her and now, Eirika had somehow procured a rose-colored dress which fell to her ankle. The trim on all the hems was white silk and the bodice bore a white crest embroidered across her midriff. So her lady's maids had finally won the bitter war that had been raging since the Princess had been roughly nine years old. On her left hand she wore a silver ring set with a blue-colored jewel.

Momentarily, Seth wondered if it would be appropriate to comment. Eirika never failed to glow radiantly whenever he set eyes on her, but he knew that she felt awkward in full dresses and corsets, even one so simple. Beth, obsessed with noble fashion, had made things far more torturous and complex. Some even bore a striking resemblance to interrogation implements lying in boxes in the Castle dungeons, especially the ones Seth thought twice about even looking at.

"It is good to see you again," she continued after a brief silence. Her smile broadened as she stepped forward, pleased to see that he wasn't declining her attention. "Have you completed your inspection of the border defenses?"

"Yes, milady," he said, bowing as she drew nearer. "To the best of my ability, we have garrisons stationed in most of the forts along the edges of Renais, including the new border, and men patrolling routinely. If you like, I could detail the specifics for you on a map—"

"That's quite alright," Eirika assured him. "I was just wondering if you would like to walk with me a little. To talk?"

One advantage of being completely busy all the time was that it took his mind away from other, internal dilemmas. If his personal life proved to be too unwieldy, like at this very instant, he could just dive into the protective fortress of Extreme Preoccupation. The little monster of personal wishes said yes, Princess, that would be lovely, what do you want to talk about? And of course, he already knew. It was an impending subject, barreling at them both at a terrifying speed.

"To tell the truth, Princess," he began after a moment's pause. Yes, tell the truth. That would be a stunning change of pace. "I'm a little exhausted."

Her face fell, slightly. The formality was a slip; he was used to calling her by her title than by her given name. "Ah. Well, tomorrow maybe?"

"I'll set aside some time in the afternoon," Seth promised, swallowing the words he wanted to say. "I'll find you, Eirika. You have my word."

Eirika nodded absently. "Alright. I'll see you then, Seth. Good night."

She closed the distance between them briefly, and Seth leaned forward so she wouldn't have to jump to kiss him good night. Eirika took his hands and squeezed lightly, as if she really would prefer not to let go. Her kiss was light and affectionate and she smiled as she pulled away.

"I'll be waiting," she said warmly, still noticeably disappointed that he didn't want to talk now. For someone so honest, she could inspire guilt and self-loathing like no one else. Eirika disappeared around a corner, and Seth turned to go the other way, although he resided somewhere in the same wing of the Castle.

A swift, efficient patrol around the main hallways. That would help clear his head, and organize his thoughts. There was no doubt in his mind that Eirika, the woman he loved above all else, wanted badly to talk about the impending wedding. She had every right to be curious about the details.

None of which he had found time to work out, Seth griped. After announcing his love for her at least three times—once to her, once to Ephraim, and then once, on accident, to Forde, who promptly spread the word as fast as he possibly could—Eirika and the rest of Renais naturally expected a proposal. The only real fiasco there was trying to find a ring, something Franz and Forde, the culprits behind the public announcement of his relationship to the Princess, had miraculously pulled from seemingly thin air.

The other complications, too, in the relationship, aside from the eventual-veering-precariously-into-never marriage date, stemmed from things he could not control. No matter how much Eirika swore it didn't matter to her, he was at least nine or ten years her senior, a noticeably large gap. Seth had seen other marriages with gaps in age between partners, and neither party seemed very happy as time went on. Beside that, he left the Castle frequently and for long trips, and she would not always be able to come with him, if ever. Eirika deserved far more care and attention, he thought as he turned into a slightly lesser used corridor, than he would possibly be able to give her without completely resigning from his duties and no matter how rundown he felt, that would never happen.

But Forde had pressed the ring in his hand that night, and Eirika had contrived to somehow be in the gardens at one o'clock in the morning, fully dressed and alert with her rapier at her side. Framed by the flowers on one side and starlight on the other, there had really only been one course of action he could possibly have taken. Seth wouldn't change that moment for all the fish in Frelia.

Almost immediately after asking the all-important question, though, Ephraim had desperately needed someone to see to the radical Grado-loyal insurgency in Serafew and all plans that would've been made then had been brushed to the wayside. After the rebels there had been put down, bandits were sighting sneaking in and Seth spent the better part of the year trying to strengthen the border, followed by the hunting down of the Zni'toli, along with three other bands of robbers of various levels of efficiency and cruelty prior to that. Seth saw a mouse, a brown and fat one, scuttle into a crack in the wall. Didn't the King keep a cat around here somewhere? Cats were by far the laziest creatures he'd ever come across, including Forde and the whining vassal of Pontifex L'Arachel.

If someone asked the blasted little monster in his head what it thought about the whole situation, it would lay the blame on Seth, squarely, and would laugh as the manifestation of his guilty conscience hunted him at close-range and a Brave lance. For some odd, inexplicable reason, his conscience looked very much like his drillmaster from nearly twenty years ago, with the lazy eye and everything.

Was it _normal_ to personify his thoughts?

Seth halted halfway through the corridor leading around to the kitchens, which adjoined conveniently with the Greater Hall, where feasts and formal events were held, and only slightly less conveniently with the Lesser Hall, which was where the King and his family and close aides normally took meals. He scanned the surroundings, searching for the source of the noise. Typical cold stone walls, floors stained with spilt food, an effigy of Saint Vidar stuffed into a niche in the wall, the fat and jolly patron of cooks and good food . . . ah-ha.

Seth recognized the noise, specifically, as tittering. A snatch of blue skirt appeared momentarily around a corner of a branching hall. Raising an eyebrow, Seth merely ignored the two—it sounded like two—maids, turning around completely while deceptively looking out the edges his peripheral vision. The blonde girl from Ephraim's study peeked from out behind her spying place, and then pulled back, revealing the face of another, not-quite-so-comely girl with mucky green hair harshly pulled back somehow.

Not sure whether to be concerned or flattered, Seth kept walking until he could no longer hear either woman.

He passed other servants and knights, along with the occasional, odd noble, all going about their business. They greeted him, some warmly, some formally. One man, a particularly stressed looking scribe, rushed past him in a flurry with but a spare, "Evening!"

That must be Tal, Seth thought to himself as he entered the throne room from the crosswise entrance that the servants used when they were being sneaky. The throne sat alone and unoccupied on its dais. The seat of the Renaitian monarchy, along with the room it swelled up to fill, waited for its King to arrive in the coming morning to listen to the complaints of the citizenry.

"_It's a pitiful, unrewarding life, through and through."_

Seth tensed suddenly, his hands forming fists, remembering when someone other than the King had sat on that throne. His mouth set in a tight line, picturing Orson again—completely mad with a combination of grief and lust and obsession.

What had he said? Not Orson. Himself. What had he said in return, to refute that statement so powerfully in his own mind? What had given him the strength to drive his sword home and not to sigh and say, "Yes, that's it, you're exactly right?" A deep sense of shame flooded him. When had serving the King become such an unwanted chore? That wasn't right. That wasn't what he believed in. He truly believed in King Ephraim and Princess Eirika and would die to see their ideals realized.

Right?

Orson's ghost leered at him.

"General," said a feminine voice. Seth jumped and spun around. It was just Lute, with her peculiar expression of utter superiority and faded blue dressing gown. Her belly protruded slightly, and she was unconsciously folding her hands over the middle.

"Madam Lute?" he replied, shakily.

"I have discussed this matter at length with Kyle, and we both agreed that you should know," Lute said, fluidly ignoring him. Her voice echoed and bounced in the high-ceilinged room, across the paintings of Gods and heroes. She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't very much at all. "I have had a vision of the dead."

Perfect. Just perfect.

"A vision of what, Lute . . .?" Seth asked dubiously, pretending he hadn't witnessed the haunting of another sort of ghost.

"Of the dead, sir. Quite clearly," she said, her face and tone both of the sincerest nature. "Of my grandmother. Not long ago. Just yesterday, in fact."

Seth found it difficult to respond in actual words. "Of your grandmother."

"Yes," Lute nodded, deadpanning. "She was knitting booties. For the baby, sir."

"Ah," Seth took a deep breath and urged every part of him to at least _look_ as if he believed her. "Well, that's very kind of her. If you'll excuse me, Madam Lute . . . I'd like to finish up my patrol and get to bed. I'm sure your husband is missing you."

"Visions of the dead are bad luck," Lute called after him, unmoving and solemn. "They only appear when circumstance warrants a visit. This bodes ill, sir."

"Then let's hope for the best, Madam Lute," he said over his shoulder, already slipping through the narrow door off to the side. Perhaps he would skip the rest and just go to sleep. Although it was relatively early, Seth suddenly felt immeasurably tired. "Congratulations to you and Kyle, by the way."

When there was no answer, Seth twisted to look behind him, one hand on the door. Lute vanished from the center of the elaborate tiled floor. If only he could do that, too.

**..0..**

Orson leered at him again, once more enthroned in the seat of King Ephraim. Monica—not the corpse, but the beautiful, vivacious woman he remembered having met once or twice—lingered near her husband in a white, lacy dress. Some grand, evangelical light haloed her golden hair, worn loosely over her bare shoulders. The two of them held court in the way that Ephraim and Eirika did; with those bearing complaints and suggestions ordered in their arrivals, never rank.

After listening to distressed man or woman, Monica descended the dais with a pristine white lily to give the citizen, for their trouble. But when he approached them, Monica did not move for her silver basket of flowers. The mix-and-match army from the War of the Stones waited behind him.

Waited for him to say something. Orson leaned forward, reaching for his sword.

Seth awoke with the light of the sun, groggily wondering why the hour before dawn was so bright.

He snapped awake as he realized that Elsie rose hours prior, and, in all likelihood, rode now on the King's Rood, believing that he would be following close behind. Seth mentally cursed, hoping that Forde would be the one to point out the Painters' Guild's glaring errors, being on the verge of acceptance into their ranks anyway. Right, Forde was resigning as a knight . . . Hastily dressing—completely forgoing his armor—Seth all but ran to the stables, nearly colliding into Eirika, his fiancée.

"Seth! I'm sor—"

"No time," he managed, gently shoving her to the side. Guilt racked him instantly. Apologize later, said the drillmaster conscience, or else.

Shut up, thought Seth. Just shut up.

"Jake! Jake, get my horse! _Now_!"

**..0..**

By the time the sun climbed to its noon vantage, Seth worried that he would ride all the way to Palgo to get to Elsie. Perhaps she had taken the Windy Road instead, which was a roundabout way to go, but less traveled. Seth bit his lip, scanning the horizon for anything Elsie-shaped.

Nothing, except for a human shaped lump huddled on the side of the road in the distance. Seth was tempted to just turn around and head back to the Castle; but he remembered the indignant nun from yesterday, and his hasty dismissal of Princess Eirika still stung. Just because it was a bad week didn't lessen the importance of his duty to the people of Renais, admonished the drillmaster. Seth urged his horse forward to attend to the dark lump.

"Hello?" he called as he came within earshot, approaching the black-cloaked figure slumped in the grass, now only a few yards away. Seth dismounted and led Johnny the rest of the way. "Are you hurt, traveler?"

The lump struggled for a moment and then a puffy-cheeked, elderly woman emerged from the hood, looking up at him critically with one eye, head turned like a fish. Her hair was parted several times into thick cords and tied with a multitude of ribbons. The woman's taste was questionably, strewn with occult pendants and dried plants and . . . dead lizards. In her knotted, bejeweled hands were two knitting needles, with a pair of obscenely long blue rectangle stuffed all on one side. Grass surrounded her on all sides, seemingly growing through her. Trick of the sun, Seth thought, shading his eyes. The effect didn't go away.

"Madam?"

"Boy," she replied, raising her chin further as she switched eyes. Her skin crinkled across her face, appearing to be bone dry. Even her voice crackled with the frailty of aged, stiff paper.

It had been almost ten years since someone had last called him 'boy' and that had been his father. No one else was nearby.

"Madam, if you're alright, I'll—"

"Lune," she snapped, scrunching her brittle, pointy nose. Her mouth kept moving long after she stopped speaking and the way she stared at him with only one eye unnerved him.

"Excuse me, madam?"

"My name is Lune," she said. She straightened her back so she wasn't so hunched over. Within the space of a blink, Lune snatched his hand, bringing her face close to examine his palm with the opposite eye she had been using just a second ago.

"Er," Seth stammered, awkwardly thrown off balance by her unearthly speed. "Madam Lune . . ."

"Quiet, boy," she barked. A chipped, freakishly long fingernail traced the lines that crisscrossed his hand. "Reasonable lifespan, nothing special. Great achievements at a young age, slight inclination for insanity . . . you are here."

Lune jabbed the center of his hand. A wispy white eyebrow, looped by a ring, rose quizzically. "Much has changed, suddenly. You find yourself overwhelmed. You seek answers. Solutions."

Seth gently detached her from his wrist, pulling away. The old woman—Lune—made his skin creep, somehow. Her touch chilled him to his bones. Although Lune seemed displeased, she did not seem to let his hesitance bother her overmuch.

"I'm right, aren't I," she bristled irritably. Lune hardly paused for him to reply. "Of course I'm right. I'm a sage of immeasurable wisdom. I haven't been incorrect for over seventy years."

"That's quite an—" Seth began politely, but was cut off.

"Achievement? You know achievements quite well, don't you? But you no longer take pride in them. Why not?" Lune asked. She stared upwards, deep into his eyes. Seth realized she now stood, although she possessed no great height. He had not seen her stand. She continued speaking in his hesitation. "Your accomplishments are too numerous. And you are expected to achieve even more. Why not? You are the legendary Silver Knight. It is as much a part of you as your spine."

Lune's speckled, milky violet eyes remained unmoving as she pursed her lips and scrunched her nose. Despite her ludicrous appearance, her diagnosis was uncannily accurate. What sort of magician was Lune, that she could divine thoughts and motives so perfectly?

"You," she said solemnly. "Need a vacation."

A nutter, Seth thought incredulously. This woman is a nutter. For once, both he and his monster agreed whole-heartedly with each other.

"I'll keep that in mind," he murmured, stifling yet another sigh and stepping back to lead Johnny to the road. A vacation was the last thing on his to-do list

"Yes, but not in body," Lune remarked enigmatically, in her clouded voice. "You need a vacation, but you cannot have one. There is great danger lurking in the halls of your home. A human danger that cannot be discovered nor thwarted while you yourself are human."

Seth turned to look at her and caught sight of her eyes. Both flickered between deep lilac and the blue-white light of powerful magic. His hand flew instinctively to his sword. Lune watched him, unblinkingly, like a cat.

"But don't worry. I rather liked changing shapes," Lune told him soothingly. At least, it sounded like she was trying to soothe. The overall blandness of her voice, which had been quite sharp, frightened him considerably. Not much these days did that. "Ah, yes. That'll do."

She said something else afterwards, but Seth found he either hadn't heard it, or he forgot it instantly. The world stopped, having suddenly gone on a hiatus without notifying him at all. Lune was the only other existing creature at that moment and she scared the shit out of him.

Then Magvel started to move again, while at the same time, he sunk. Physically freefalling while his feet were firmly on the ground, except now, not so much on the ground as suspended by something tall and unstable. Johnny, a warhorse trained to be unflappable in the most stressful of situations, reared and panicked, suddenly free to do so. The hand holding the reins disappeared under a wave of billowing black.

The sinking sensation faded soon enough, replaced by something more objectionable—extreme, mind-numbing pain. No thought. No monster. No King, no wedding, no family.

Just searing pain.

He lay in the soft grass, surrounded by black on all sides. Seth shuddered momentarily before a mighty thump sent a bolt of fear ricocheting through him again and he struggled valiantly against the oppressive black, breaking free and shooting through the grass in a great leap. He skidded to a stop, tumbling forward on hands and knees. A pitch black nightmare stomped and thrashed not so far away and every muscle in his body tensed, ready for flight.

The nightmare was Johnny. Somehow, Johnny had become several hundred hands taller. Something thrashed violently behind him. Something red, shockingly so. Johnny stampeded away in some direction. Lune must have ignored the stallion, because she was hovering over Seth, also far taller than she should have been.

He spun around just in time to see a new appendage. Seth cried out in a mixture of horror and disbelief.

"_Mrrrrrrrrrrroooow!_"

A pair of bony hands grabbed him roughly around the middle, slipping up under his arms—or rather, forelegs.

"Relax," Lune said, looking him sternly in the eye, awkwardly spinning him to face her. "You'll learn to enjoy it. The tingling sensation is a bit disorienting, I know."

"That was not a tingling _anything_!" Seth roared back in protest. It came out as a shrieking, elongated yowl. "Turn me _back_! _RIGHT NOW!_"

He clawed at her wrists and buried his teeth solidly in Lune's spindly fingers. She sniffed, dumping him on the ground. Her hands and forearms remained unmarked, as if he hadn't been sinking his now very sharp front teeth into her paper thin wrists. It wasn't like he could draw sword anymore.

"You'll be grateful to me when nearly certain death is avoided," Lune said knowledgeably, placing her skinny old hands on her hips. Before he could realize it, Seth hissed at her angrily. "Just you wait. In the meantime, try to enjoy being a cat. I loved it when I was your age."

She squinted down at him and then blew out, like the flame of a candle.

Somewhere in his head, the monster reappeared and this time it was toting Lute, a few months pregnant and ominously serious. _They only appear when circumstance warrants a visit_, she had said. What possessed him to think so little of her words, when he'd seen proof of all manner of otherworldly creatures and beings? If there was truly a Demon King, what said that ghosts were only stories? It certainly explained Lune's peculiarity. Lute took after her almost perfectly.

"There's no way," he said aloud, shaking badly.

Standing on four feet felt clumsy, but there was no way he could balance on two and manage the tail. The tail lashed about wildly, catching bits of grass in its red fur. The sun shone too bright for his eyes.

"There's no way," Seth repeated. He listened carefully to himself speak. A meow—with undertones of his own voice. Alright.

This was most definitely a dream. He was having the world's craziest dream, brought on by stress, overwork and assigning names and faces to his own thoughts. All of yesterday was a dream, too, Seth speculated, dizzy with a sort of frozen, wide-eyed shock. And all the rest of my life too. I'll wake up years younger. This'll be an amazing story to tell Bethy and Elsie and Marietta and whoever else was born by then, because I have no idea how much of this life has been a dream. Eirika probably won't even be alive yet. I think I'll be the black sheep of the family and go into carpentry or some boring profession like that. I'm sure Father won't estrange me entirely.

_Get a hold of yourself_, said the monster.

Seth closed his eyes and counted to three, letting himself calm down sufficiently. This was no dream, but he would handle it as the most capable knight in Renais. King Fado had trusted him enough to give him that position at such a young age because he had known that Seth could not only handle it, but he was _more_ qualified than senior knights. King Ephraim trusted him now enough to place his life and the life of his sister in his hands, and the lives of his knights and his civilians.

When Seth opened his eyes, he was still low to the ground, balancing precariously on all fours, but the Tail had ceased its thrashing. Good. He was calm now. Carefully, Seth managed a sitting position, loosening the muscles that had been tensed. He breathed as deeply as he could.

The ghost of Lune warned him of a human danger in his home. Did that mean Palgo? Was his family in mortal danger?

_No_, snapped the monster. _Think. What's your home? Or, rather, _who_ is your home?_

Seth didn't even take a second to bring up the image of Princess Eirika. She was synonymous with home, and her home was Castle Renais. Lune spoke strangely, but not in riddles; she appeared just now, on the roadside in the middle of nowhere, to warn him of Eirika's impending death. Despite the current circumstance, a familiar, steely resolve arose within him. No one would touch either the King or the Princess while he was serving. And although Seth was now a member of the domesticated cat family, he did not remember resigning from his service to King Ephraim. Lune changed his shape, but not anything else.

Preparing himself, Seth attempted to stand again and promptly failed.

_No worries,_ the monster said cheerfully. _You have the entire trip home to practice walking._

Seth straightened his front legs and, wobbling, drew in his back legs so he was sitting again. He then stood; rising as he normally would, only fighting the urge to stand vertically. Experimentally, Seth lifted a paw and took one very hesitant step forward, lurching awkwardly. He followed it with an equally clumsy step of his back foot—no, no, better use the opposite, Seth corrected rapidly. Like alternating hands and feet as a human being, only all on the ground.

Feeling slightly more empowered by his newfound ability to walk, Seth took a few more successful steps, making sure not to get too overconfident. How many times had he told that to Franz?

Fairly sure that he could trot at a reasonable pace and not fall over in a heap, Seth padded out of the grass and onto the road. The Tail swished once in the air behind him, operating on its own agenda. Somehow, the distance between here and Castle Renais seemed less daunting when he had been man-sized. The thought of Eirika—and the King, of course—in peril pushed him onward. It would be a very long walk on stubby little cat legs, but it was his duty.

**..0..**

If it was odd to see a housecat approaching the Castle gates at a steady, determined, rather plodding pace, no one seemed to comment. Seth grimaced as he saw the two guards there, lackadaisically standing watch. Late afternoon usually meant high-traffic in and out of the Castle, but fate itself had contrived that today's businesses would slow to an almost snail-like tread.

It was a longshot, but Seth planned on walking in the front door.

Holding his head and the Tail high, Seth padded along the wide stone bridge in a quick gait, hoping to beat the guards before they took too much notice of him.

"Slow down, there, fella," the first helmeted guard said sternly, reaching out to grab Seth by the scruff of the neck with his free hand. The other held the standard lance assigned to guardsmen.

"Whazzat!" the second gasped, shaking awake and blinking in the still-strong sun. Sleeping on duty, Seth thought disapprovingly. No wonder danger found its way in, with security this lax. He would have a word with Nolan, once he was normal again. If he was ever normal again; Lune had not been very definitive on that particular point.

"It's me," Seth tried saying, futilely. It came out a weak meow, which was frustrating but not unexpected. "The General."

"Just a mangy ole cat," the First Guard shrugged. Seth used all possible willpower not to claw the man to death. Being suspended by the skin of one's neck _hurt_, but he was better than that.

"Oh, Gods, keep it away from me," the Second Guard cringed, curling his lip. "I'm deadly allergic."

_Problematic_, said the monster. _But not impossible._

"Alright then, kitty. Out you go," the First Guard said, tossing Seth roughly.

Whoever said cats always landed on their feet had never met Seth the cat. He landed with a brutal thump on the dusty bridge, knocking up a small cloud. The First Guard laughed, clearly amused. Seth groaned inwardly, clambering to his feet. Nothing broke in the fall, thank his lucky stars, although an old sore spot on his belly pained him. So Lune's spell had not changed that damned scar. Shakily, Seth darted back down the road before the Guards decided that the ruddy little cat hanging around warranted a good smack.

Heaving another sigh—amazingly enough, cats could sigh—Seth hid himself in the grass and watched the two patiently, only yards away from the open gate. The Tail whipped the stalks of grass in frustration. He looked up at the ramparts fixatedly, following the blocky lines up to the flag fluttering limply in the windless day.

What about the other entrances? Mostly inaccessible to anything without opposable thumbs or at least five feet of height. Seth was at the mercy of those damned guards. Perhaps when the shift changed, he could slip between them. Oooh—no, probably not. Seth was not that great of a runner on four feet. He was not that lucky.

_Some people would argue that being turned into a cat is pretty unlucky, too. _That would be the voice of the monster, which seemed to be developing its own shadowy agenda in his mind. Lune mentioned an inclination for insanity, hadn't she, when she read his palm. Perhaps it surfaced when he was severely put upon—but no, there had been no mind-monster in the flight from Renais or the battles against countless, real monsters. That felt like a long time ago.

Perhaps he was just going flat out nuts. It would certainly complement the rest of this dratted day splendidly.

The soft, gentle voice of a man drifted up the hill and Seth turned to look down at Artur, bearing a load of staves and healing salves. Lute followed him closely, arguing intently and using an old, worthless Mend staff as a cane. He'd never been so happy to see Kyle's nutty little wife. With some effort, Seth bolted towards her.

". . . you oughtn't follow me to the city, anymore," Artur huffed, pausing to rest. "It's got to be bad for the baby."

"The baby is the progeny of Kyle and myself. I should assume he is hardier than you," Lute said, matter-of-factly. "And besides, chapter 5 of _The Mirackle of Life, Men and Women_, page 298, paragraph eight, says that I must exercise myself frequently to keep the child healthy. Accompanying you to the healing houses every other day is ideal."

"Yes, but what if you get sick, Lute?" Artur replied, giving her a distraught look. Lute's logic often defied most other people's by completely ignoring them. "Oh—hello kitty."

"I need your help, Lute," Seth called out, although it was again an elongated meow. "Your grandmother appeared before me and she turned me into a cat. You've got to change me back!"

Lute looked down at him, intrigued. Did she understand him? The young librarian squinted at him, leaning closer.

". . . _Felis catus_," she stated finally. "The domesticated housecat."

"Yes, that's right," Artur sighed, hefting the staves to one shoulder. "Poor thing. It looks like it's been through an ordeal."

_You have no idea_, the monster commented dryly.

"Lute!" Seth tried again. He was beginning to understand the full depth of his predicament, although magic had never been a strong suit of his. "Can you understand me, Lute?"

"Cats keep rodents at bay," Lute mused. "Something has been chewing at the pages in the lower shelves of Block 9R. I think I could use a cat."

"No, I suppose not," Seth said, disappointed slightly. Lute reached down and scooped him up, holding him like a doll.

He stretched uncomfortably, mewling loudly. The Tail swished back and forth like an angry pendulum.

"Er, Lute? You may want to support the bottom half too, or it might slip and claw you," Artur suggested. Seth could have kissed him.

"Ah, like this?" she said, juggling the staff and Seth in her arms.

"Yes, that's much better," Seth said, more for his benefit than Lute's. Artur smiled softly.

"Yes. This kitty's a talker, isn't he?" Artur chuckled gently.

Lute regarded Seth in her arms with a raised eyebrow, not overly impressed with the scarred old tomcat that he made. Lute's coloring was decidedly darker than Lune's, and her features far more smooth and clear. And she looked out from both eyes.

"He's not saying anything at all," Lute frowned. Artur sighed.

"Let's go, Lute."

Seth stared at the First Guard victoriously as he passed the man, relatively safe in Lute's thin arms. Her long, unevenly shorn hair tickled his nose uncomfortably. Artur murmured a farewell as they parted, he to return the staves to Sister Nella in the infirmary and she to her library. Or . . . no . . . this was not the way to the library.

Lute kicked on a door in the wing of the Castle where higher-end staff worked. The last librarian perused the shelves of the Renais Royal Library over eighty years ago. Seth supposed that King Ephraim wanted to keep Lute on.

The door opened to reveal Kyle in plainclothes. It didn't look right, although Seth imagined that he looked just as silly out of uniform and armor.

"Lute? Is there any particular reason you have a cat with you?" Kyle asked, furrowing his brow. Lute both stood on tiptoe and jumped a little bit to kiss her husband's cheek. Seth noted that she managed to maintain her expression of superiority while also mixing in affection and warmth. The effect was something like a lizard singing opera in a feather cap. He did not know where that particular simile had come from.

"Cats kill mice and book-chewing rodents," she replied brusquely, squeezing around his bulk in the doorframe. "But first . . ."

Lute dumped both Seth and the Mend staff unceremoniously on the ground. The staff managed to hit him on the way down. Seth did not trust himself to dash out the door without getting the Tail shut in the door Kyle was still holding. Lute crossed the room to get some object that Seth could not see for being small and close to the ground.

"First what, Lute?" Kyle said wryly. He raised an eyebrow and leaned against the space in the _open_ door.

"Do you suppose cats have the bone structure for wings?" she said. Her hands steepled as she sat down on the floor next to her new 'cat.' Seth gulped. No, Lune's brood was not helping at all. Apparently, Lute's tastes leaned towards wanton experimentation and destruction. There weren't enough fish in the bay of Frelia to make him stay here, especially now that Lute's fingers glowed bluish with magic.

Before anyone could answer her, Seth made a break for the door, scrambling at top speed, cat limbs flailing. Kyle slammed the door shut, but only caught the very tip of the Tail's fur and Seth figured that he could live without it. The servants in the halls cried out unhappily as a red blur whizzed past their feet, single-mindedly determined to get as far from Lute has it could

Seth learned all the halls in Renais Castle at a young age, as a page carrying notes and running errands for the nobles, knights and older squires. However, no matter how tiny he had been at ten years old, it was incomparable to viewing the corridors as a cat. Everything appeared infuriatingly similar. He was completely lost, but that was alright as long as he didn't stop running. The ground was thoroughly filthy.

Careening around an unfamiliar corner, Seth lost his balance. The Tail whipped, trying to right him by itself. Seth tumbled headfirst into an entirely unexpected wall with a loud thwack and a meow.

"Oh, kitty!" gasped a nearby girl's voice. Seth could not place her for the stars in his eyes.

"Owww . . ." he groaned. Yet another totally pathetic mewl.

"Janna, Janna, come quick! The poor kitty bopped its head!" the girl's voice chimed. Like knives sliding against each other, Seth thought darkly. His head hurt.

"What kitty?" another voice, deeper and more mature. Janna emerged from an adjacent hall, carrying a bucket of something. Her greenish brown hair was restrained across her scalp in a tight bun, decorated with a bit of lace and beads.

"This poor baby. Oh, come here kitty, let Emmie take care of you," Emmie cooed. Practiced arms wrapped around him and lifted him off the ground.

"Ye Gods, he looks like he's gone through hell," Janna commented, frowning. Seth took a mild offense at that. What business did she have, commenting on his appearance as a cat? "It is a he, right?"

Emmie lifted him up to check. Seth felt strongly violated. Emmie looked familiar, as did her green haired friend.

"Yep, it's a boy," Emmie said affirmatively. She tucked Seth over her shoulder and carried him single-handedly, using her opposite to lift her previously abandoned bucket. "I think he looks adorable."

"Cookie will kill him and put him in the stew, y'know that, right?" Janna said dryly. They were both maidservants, in the same nearly identical blue dress and apron.

Emmie gasped. "He wouldn't!"

"You bet," Janna said. She grinned maliciously at Seth as she petted his head quickly. She began walking down the hall again, swinging the bucket idly. "You're gonna be dinner for the Royals tonight, ruddy."

Emmie tightened her grip on Seth protectively, following her friend.

"Don't call him that," Emmie said. She sounded like she was the sort of person who broke out into tears or giggles all the time, just like his sister Mirna. Today must be a 'tears' day. "Cookie wouldn't cook him. He's too sweet."

"What, ruddy?" Janna replied, scrunching her nose. "Cookie hates cats, Em."

"He keeps Socksie."

Socksie must be the other cat, Seth thought to himself. Perhaps he could get some help from her.

"She's only for the rats. He'd cook her too, if he could get away with it. You've only been workin' for a few months, or you would've known that," Janna shrugged, splashing a bit of water on the floor. "Oooh—that's a tom, ain't it? Cookie'll hate that too. Imagine if it and Socksie have kittens?"

"Cookie won't kill him," Emmie said firmly. "I'm going to keep him myself. The King raised my salary a little for tending the fires in the Royal rooms so good _and_ keeping up with my work in the kitchen _and_ I do errandy things for him when Tal is hiding from him."

She tilted her head downward and Seth looked to see a bunch of keys at her apron belt. A bright light of recognition figuratively blinded Seth. This Emmie was the girl from Ephraim's study! He didn't know why it took him so long to remember her, other than she was wearing her hair down.

"Fine, fine, but you better keep him from having kittens with Socksie," Janna suggested. "Why don't you fix him?"

The scar from Valter's lance had carried over into cat form. Seth tried very hard not to think about what Janna was suggesting.

"No, that's cruel!" Emmie gasped, clutching Seth tighter. He relaxed a little. "I'll just keep him away from her, that's all. Besides, he's too good for her, aren't you, Silver?"

Janna snorted, and then snapped her head attentively to her friend. "Wait, what did you call him?"

"What did you call me?" Seth asked incredulously, maneuvering so he could see her face.

"Silver," Emmie sniffed, bundling Seth closer again. "That's his name."

"Why?" Janna raised an eyebrow.

Anyone who wasn't blind could see that he was most obviously a red-furred cat. He supposed it came from his own red hair, although he briefly wondered if that meant that Lune turned lilac when she changed shapes. A purple cat. That was the type of thing that went into gypsy freakshows.

Meanwhile, Emmie seemed to be blushing bright red to match her new pet. "After the . . . y'know, the General. The Silver Knight and all? Silver's red like he is . . ."

"Wha—ha! Ye _Gods,_ woman, two glimpses and you're obsessed!" Janna nearly dropped her bucket of water on the floor, stopping dead to bend over and laugh.

"It was _three_," Emmie insisted, flushed entirely pink. "I saw him this morning, too."

It took Seth a moment to register that they were talking about _him. _That was an entirely unexpected twist in the conversation. Suddenly, it became very uncomfortable to be riding on Emmie's shoulder, so close to her. Janna cackled uncontrollably.

"Oh . . . stop it, Janna," the blonde maid said irritably. "It's not that funny. Here, you take my pail. I need to hide Silver somewhere so Cookie doesn't find him."

"What?" Janna stopper her laughter mid-snort. "Aw, why do I have to do it?"

"'Cause you laughed at me, that's why. And I'm not the new girl anymore," Emmie retorted sharply, snubbing her button nose at Janna, who stuck out her tongue in return. "You'll have to pick on Creepy Clara now."

"Eesh, she's so weird. You pick on her. I always feel like I hafta watch my back around that freak," Janna muttered, taking Emmie's bucket easily. Emmie seemed not to have the strength that most kitchen girls had. "But you do realize you have a snowball's chance in Hell with that man, right, Em? I mean, you're competing with damned _Princess_. They're engaged to be married, you know."

"For the last year, Aria in the accounts said. If they were going to get married, they would've already," Emmie shrugged, turning off into another direction. A stab of guilt hit Seth in the familiar sore spot of his eternally pending marriage. It hurt to know that even the servants thought it would never happen. "Let me have my fantasies, Jan, and I won't say a _word_ about you and your fancying Sir Garcia."

_Ooh, did not need to hear that,_ cringed both the monster and he. Janna was closer in age to Ross than the aging warrior. The mental images were disturbing.

Janna flushed almost indiscernibly in the dim light of the windowless hall and hurried away, swinging two pails instead of her one. Emmie peered down the hall, presumably checking for any witnesses to her adoption of Silver the cat. When the way was clear, Emmie hastily snuck across the floor in determined steps.

Janna and Emmie made for an odd pair of friends. Emmie, while not _exactly_ fat, was admittedly very plump, and extremely fair, which contrasted with Janna's dark coloring and hazardously sharp figure.

But despite being like a small, buttery little Mogall, Emmie was surprisingly nimble. She dashed along the furthest, most disused halls of the Castle until they arrived at a mostly empty storeroom. Like most rooms, it was undefined and insignificant in every way. A few bags of flour were stuffed in a corner along with some dried goods. Emmie knelt and allowed Seth the most comfortable landing he'd had all day.

"Here you go, Silver. I'll be back with some scraps and some water after supper," she said, scratching his ears.

_May as well act like a cat_, the monster suggested. Seth tried a purr, valiantly. It came out sort of gravelly, like a ticklish rumble in his throat. He sneezed. The Tail snapped like a whip.

"Teehee," Emmie grinned, continuing to pet him absently. "I know, it's dusty. I'll move you into my room, once I make a deal with all the girls. I'm sure they'll love you, Silver. Gods know the actual General is popular enough! Janna makes fun of me, but I know I'm not the only one."

Being a cat certainly allowed for a unique perspective on how the staff of the Castle viewed him. As a rule, Seth normally did not notice the kitchen girls. It was their job not to be. Apparently, that rule did not work both ways.

"Oh . . . I bet Cookie and Creepy Clara will be missing me about now," Emmie sighed, twitching her pouty lips. "I'll be back soon, Silver. Don't piss on anything."

_Yes, ma'am, _the monster saluted sharply. Seth wished he could figure out how to hit a figment of his imagination.

Seth briefly entertained the thought of dashing out the door while it was still open, but Emmie filled the door almost entirely, like yeast in a pan. She closed it soundly behind her.

_Great job thwarting human danger_, the cruel little monster snickered evilly. _Locked in a storeroom while King Ephraim is brutally murdered at his own desk. Yes. Absolutely superb._

Shut your . . . shut up, Seth replied inwardly, unsure whether or not to assign a mouth to the monster as well as its own identity. It might never shut up, then.

Instead of considering the phenomena of inner demons and the mouths thereof, Seth turned his attention on the door. It was shut tight, and although probably not locked, he lacked the proper appendages to twist the handle. Perhaps if he jumped and caught hold of the seam between the doorknob and the door . . . he would dangle from the knob, unable to pull. Brilliant.

Frustrated, Seth extended his claws and scratched mightily at the wood. It made a thunderous, screeching noise and dug thick grooves into the grain. It was all very satisfying, even though this certainly counted as vandalism of Royal property. He would atone for it later, he promised the drillmaster, sincerely as he could.

When clawing at the door proved boring, Seth examined his new prison, pacing its length, and then width. Then diagonally, both ways. Several times in all directions. Roughly an hour passed and Seth had walked all over the storeroom floor, knocked down an old jar of spice and broken it, and rolled it all over the floor.

Waiting in a room for Emmie, his new owner, to return, was inescapably dull. Seth spent most of his time these days attending to every sort of problem that could arise. Staying still in the corner of a room on top of a bag of flour did not sit well with him at all.

_Think of it as a vacation,_ the monster commented, lazily. _Why don't you think about happier things? You're not going anywhere very soon._

Happier things. Seth settled into the softest part of the flour bag and closed his eyes. I wonder if Bethy's going to have a boy. Everyone in Seth's family, except for twelve-year-old, pinkheaded Mirna (wait, fifteen years old, now) had red hair, so it was a safe bet Alisabeth's little baby would be redheaded as well.

Eirika needs to go to Palgo, he decided, drifting off. Mum'll love her. So will the littlest ones and all five of the nieces. Eirika is good with children . . .

Seth awoke much later as the door swung open. Emmie snuck in, carefully balancing a bowl of water and a little cloth full of something that smelled like meat. She kicked the door shut and set the bowl on the floor. Suddenly, Seth realized how thirsty he really was.

He hopped from the little mound of flour bags and trotted over to the bowl before facing the dilemma of drinking. Cats licked water to drink it, right? Bethy had a cat once, when they'd been little, maybe six or seven. Seth leaned forward and flicked his tongue at the water. He took to it instinctually and began gulping great quantities of water.

Emmie giggled and scratched his neck affectionately, sitting down on the floor next to him.

"You were thirsty! Teehee," she cooed, finding a spot behind his ears that made him stop shoveling water into his mouth momentarily and lean toward her hand. "Like that, hm? Hee. Sorry I took so long, Silver, creepy ole Clara held me up with some extra chores for the Princess."

Emmie sighed and made a face. "It's disgusting. She's only worked here in the Castle a few weeks and already, she's administrative head, top-tier, direct subordinate to the Head. I worked my fingers off to make second-tier kitchen girl, y'know! Started out as a fourth-tier grunt, that's no fun at all. Creepy Clara's just a freak workaholic, I suppose. Y'know, we do absolutely everything around here, us kitchen maids, and I never hear one measly thank you. But it pays well! I can almost ignore the misnomer of 'kitchen girl.' Gods know we're everywhere else, too!"

Seth looked up at her. Emmie's round face smiled merrily, despite her complaining. She was a veritable chatterbox, but a kind one. She snapped the fingers of her other hand, her eyes brightening.

"Oh, I almost forgot, Silver! I brought you some tablescraps. It's not very much, but you're kinda skinny anyway," she chattered, untying the cloth bundle deftly. Within the checkered folds were two chunks of cold chicken. Seth shifted his attention from the water to the meat, instantly hungry. That was right; he hadn't had a bite to eat all day.

"Thank you," he said instantly, prodded by the drillmaster conscience. It wasn't like Emmie knew what he was saying, but it never killed anyone to be polite. He wolfed the chicken done, minding the bones. There were none; Emmie was smarter than she looked.

"I promise you'll be better off soon, Silver," Emmie told him, standing up and dusting the white from her dress. "Just you wait. See you tomorrow! It's pretty late as is . . . Janna will absolutely throttle me if I wake her up again. She's my bedmate, y'know. Good night, Silver."

Emmie disappeared while Seth was still eating. It must be very late, for her to be moving so quietly. Despite being on the porky side, Emmie didn't make much noise. That was probably a product of invisible service to the crown. King Ephraim was always spectacularly busy, although with everything and not just the military. So why did Lune change _him_ into a cat and not the King?

_Because the King's the one in danger,_ the monster clarified smugly. _Hiding him would be _helpful._ Magic, by definition, is as disagreeable as a toddler with sweets._

Damn it, the greedy little monster was steadily becoming his personal advisor. This did not bode well for his sanity.

"Is there anyone out there who can understand me?" he called through the door. Silence received him. Seth did not feel surprised and gave up for the night. He paced a little more, and to his great shame, piddled in the corner, before climbing up onto the flour bag and settling in for the night. The Tail tapped idly on the burlap, as bored as he was.

The Silver Knight, now Silver the Cat, eventual fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. On the other end of the Castle, the life of a noblewoman suddenly came to an abrupt halt.

**..0..**

The door burst open rudely, and at first Seth thought that it was Emmie again, in a panicked rush that seemed to start the second before dawn. No such luck.

A little man with a turned up nose scampered—yes, that was a distinctive scamper—into the storeroom, completely focused.

"Where _is it_?" he scowled, scanning the room. Like a berserker centering on the target of his Killer Axe, the mousy man's dark pinprick eyes widened at the sight of a jar shattered on the ground.

_Now, that's an inclination for insanity_. Seth was too paralyzed to tack on any tags to the monster's now very familiar voice. The man's funny nose twitched, and locked on to a particular corner.

"What in the _name_ . . ." the tiny man began to shake. Seth found the strength to stand and perhaps slip out behind him while he was still distracted, but the man snapped his head in the direction of the movement. His mouth opened and closed, like a fish.

"What," he breathed, resembling the specter of Death very closely. "Are _you_ doing here, _cat_?"

Ah. This must be Cookie. Along with knowing when to fight, Seth had been extensively trained on when to flee. Avidly watching out for the walls, he bolted through the door at high speeds—it became easier the more time he spent as a cat to slip around people. Cookie raged after him.

Seth wove through the halls and rounded a sharp corner into carpeted territory. The layout of Castle Renais twisted in on itself continually. Seth guessed that he was close to the more formal rooms, although right now, he wasn't sure of anything. Being small totally wrecked the mental map he had of the interior of the Castle, but as long as he kept running—Seth plowed through a congregation forming outside the chambers of what looked like a visiting noble.

A woman shrieked, followed by several more. A crowd of maids cluttering the hallway.

"Oh dear Gods!"

"What's going on now!"

"It's another murder!"

"No, it's a cat!"

"Eeek!"

Cookie dived through his own staff, wrenching Seth from the ground, by the scruff of the neck. It was really getting old, being grabbed by the scruff of the neck.

"Now I've got you, you little fiend—"

"What's going on here?"

That last voice was the voice of another woman, but this time, it carried a combination of command, regality, and sweet familiarity. The Princess stood with her arms crossed, wearing her typical white skirt and red jacket, looking much more like the woman Seth fell in love with, only angrier. She had her arms crossed over her chest. Cookie cowered.

"Milady, I'm just taking care of a menace," Cookie insisted, bowing respectfully to Princess Eirika. A squeak from the crowd captured the attention of both Cookie and Eirika. Emmie emerged from between two much thinner girls, badly out of breath. Her hands dripped with water.

"He's not a menace!" cried Emmie, dashing forward and reaching out to rescue Seth. "He's my cat and he's sweet!"

All eyes focused on Seth, not quite seeing what apparently Emmie saw. He stopped hissing at Cookie.

"We've already got a Castle cat," Cookie snapped, shaking him roughly. "We don't need a second. And he pissed in my spice room!"

"B-but—" Emmie's distress stirred the crowd as her large, round green eyes filled with tears. Her pudgy fingers reached out for her cat hesitantly.

"The cat or your job, looks like to me," Cookie threatened. Eirika coughed, to remind him who would decide that. She took a few steps forward, head held high.

"What's his name, miss?" Eirika asked, prying Seth from Cookie and holding him gently.

"Um . . . Silver . . ." Emmie responded in a small voice, turning a little pink. Other girls behind her tittered softly. The cat in question was clearly red. Emmie cleared her throat a little. "Like the knight, milady. I thought it would be cute."

Something about the name 'Silver' struck Eirika's fancy. She smiled broadly, examining 'Silver's' face carefully.

"Ah, I see," she said amusedly. "I wonder what Sir Seth would think of that, having a cat named after him."

"I'd think it a little too forward, actually," Seth replied, already resigned to the fact that no one could understand him at all. He leaned on Eirika's shoulder, trying to endear himself. She smelled of fragrant soap.

Eirika laughed, and stroked his neck. "He _is _sweet. Miss Emmie, is it? Why don't I keep Silver for you? He'll stay in the Castle, and _no one_ will lose their jobs, is that clear?"

The last bit stung Cookie bitterly, Seth could see from his vantage, but he swallowed his pride and bowed.

"Of course, milady," Cookie griped, masking his displeasure.

"Oh, thank you, milady!" Emmie gushed gratefully, bobbing up and down madly. "You don't know how much this means to me!"

"It is _my _job and my honor to serve the citizens of Renais," Eirika replied graciously, petting the mangy red fur on his back. Seth sighed as he realized he was covered in flour. "Including cats. Now, please, disperse. The Royal guardsmen are investigating this matter thoroughly and we would deeply appreciate it if the staff would carry on with their duties. A death is a tragedy, but we must continue with our work."

"What happened?" Seth asked Eirika, perfectly aware all she heard was a meow.

Slowly, Cookie and the fleet of maidservants disappeared into the woodwork, Eirika watching their every move. A dark, dour looking woman approached Eirika with a solemn expression. Her black hair was pulled back as severely as Janna's, only devoid entirely of decoration.

_That must be her,_ the monster quivered. This woman even scared Seth's thoughts. _Creepy Clara._

"Milady, will you be breakfasting with the King?" she asked, completely deadpan.

"No, I don't believe so. Send my brother my regrets. I have other things to attend to this morning," Eirika replied, as soberly as Creepy Clara. "Thank you, Miss Clara."

Creepy Clara—Miss Clara, Seth corrected himself. He would remain as respectful of Miss Clara as he was of all the citizens of Renais.

"Yes, milady. I'll see to it straight away," Cree—Miss Clara bowed. Not a curtsey. Despite being entirely frightening, Miss Clara radiated a sense of total control and capability. The heels of Miss Clara's black boots clicked on the floor as the carpet ran out.

Double checking to make sure no one would sneak up on her. Eirika took a breath and ventured into the rooms, underneath the painted door.

On the wall, Seth recognized the crest of Dasyan, a dukedom within Renais known for its textiles. This must be the room of the Duchess Dasyan. The Dasyans were another glaring example of an age gap gone sour—the Duchess was probably fifteen to twenty years younger than her aging husband. The Duchess spent her time in Castle Renais as a representative on the Royal Council, away from her ancient spouse. Not that it matter much more to her.

Eirika bit her lip as she approached the cooled corpse of a young woman around Seth's age and her own height, with long sea green hair spilt across the rich Dasyanian rug. The Duchess Dasyan lay motionless, the front of her brocade dress stained rusty red with her own blood, from a brutal gash across the side of her neck and a stab to the chest

A dagger, Seth thought glumly. Perhaps two. Definitely skilled work, like the silencing skills of an assassin. This murderer was nothing to be trifled with.

"Oh, no," Eirika murmured, setting 'Silver' down on the ground. Eirika leaned over and prized a scrap of paper from the Duchess' stiffened hand. "Oh, Freya . . ."

Seth stared sadly at the young Duchess. He had not known that Eirika had been friends with this woman, although he could understand why; Eirika and the Duchess Freya were the only two women on the Royal Council, now that he thought about it. There were no women at all on the Citizen Council. Now, there was only one woman for both Councils to share.

Eirika held the sliver of paper to her breast, saying a silent prayer. "I'll deliver this for you, Freya. Vincent deserves to have this last note."

She tucked it into the top of her boot, securely, and collected Seth. Why did no one believe he could walk on his own four feet? Duchess Freya's murder took the edge off of his problems, however. This woman was _dead_. And although her death could have been simple court intrigue (that Eirika knew about! When had she taken to gossip?), Seth believed that this had more to do with Lune's warning of human danger, or, more probably, a dangerous human.

Why on Magvel had the murderer chosen Duchess Freya? And what was the connection between her and King Ephraim's peril? Seth scooted up Eirika's shoulder, looking through her aqua curtain of hair to see that the fine rug beneath Duchess Freya of Dasyan's corpse remained pristine, despite the noblewoman's abrupt, bloody end.

A young knight, about twenty or so, approached the Princess respectfully as she exited Freya's residence in the Castle. He was flanked by two other men, one wearing the robes of a doctor or a healing priest.

"We'll take it from here, milady," he said, bowing quickly. "Please be wary. We cannot assume that the Duchess of Dasyan was the villain's only intended target. The Knights of Renais will catch this fiend, no doubt about it, milady, but until then, Sir Nolan asks you not to put yourself in a risky situation."

"Of course, Sir Rigan," Eirika agreed. Seth meowed his disbelief. That was the tone Eirika used when she wasn't inclined to following directions. Rigan believed her, gullible fool, and entered the door to where Freya's corpse lay. Seth secretly blamed Ephraim and his recklessness for corrupting the naturally honest Princess.

Tired of being held, Seth struggled against Eirika's grasp, taking special care not to claw her. Eirika frowned, alone to do so.

"Alright, alright, I'll put you down," she said, displeased. Seth leapt to the ground, landing clumsily and wobbling as he straightened his legs. The Tail held itself high.

Seth watched her intently. I'm going to follow you on foot, he thought, trying to beam his thoughts into her head, since talking proved in vain. She rolled her eyes and started down the hall. He followed her a few steps before Eirika twirled around.

"I'm going to follow you," he said.

"Meow," Eirika heard.

Eirika turned her back again and took a single step. Seth copied her. The Princess tilted her head over her shoulder to see. She took another step. So did he. She dropped to her knees, leaning to his level, her eyes shining with amazement.

"You're _clever_, too!" Eirika gasped. "Look at you! It's . . . uncanny! You can probably understand everything I'm saying, can't you, Silver?"

"Yes," Seth said, relieved. Eirika half understood him; he should have known he could always rely on her. Even if a talking cat was a little absurd, she could believe that he was 'clever' enough to understand her.

"You are special," Eirika smiled half-heartedly, her bewilderment fading as she scratched his neck. "Come along then. I've got to deliver this and then find Sir Franz for our little rendezvous. Freya was so looking forward . . ."

Eirika trailed off, wistfully. Her blue eyes welled with tears and Seth, more than ever, wished he was not a cat. Scarcely a moment later, she stood up again, sniffing determinedly.

"Let's go, Silver," she said, confident that her new pet would understand her every word.

Sir Vincent must have already heard the news, because when Eirika and 'Silver' appeared in the garden, tucked in the far corner underneath a trellis. He looked to be a poorer, unlanded knight, and now his appearance was more bedraggled than he would be normally.

He accepted the letter gratefully, and Eirika put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"She was about to go give it to you," Eirika said soothingly. "Freya loved you more than anything. She had it in her hand when she was found."

"That's just it," Vincent murmured, bags under his eyes. "I didn't come for her like I promised, milady. I . . . if I had . . ."

"I cannot heal the pain you must be enduring right now," Eirika said, taking the bereft man's hands. "But I can assure you that her killer will be found."

"I give you my word as well," Seth swore, sitting in the dirt between the beds of purple, star-shaped flowers. Vincent gazed down at the red cat, deep circles beneath his eyes.

"Your words bring me comfort, Princess," he choked. Eirika nodded and released her grip to grant him some privacy to grieve for his dead lover. Seth followed closely alongside the heels his own, keeping a watchful eye out for suspicious behavior as the Princess passed.

The Castle was become more and more familiar from his perspective, and he could now watch over Princess Eirika with considerable ease. Even if he couldn't protect her, it steadied his nerves to know where she was. Eirika, as it was, did not seem to feel she was in any danger.

She stopped in front of a window, looking in. The gardens were spacious and many rooms in the Castle boasted rooms looking into the flowers. It was not the same garden Seth remembered; that had been burned and wrecked under Orson's brief, anarchic rule.

The Princess furrowed her brow and glanced around. What sort of mischief was she engaging in _now_?

Seth followed her eyes to a remote, rather scorched looking door. It swung open, slowly. A blond head poked out.

Franz. What on Magvel was going on here?

"Sir Franz?" Eirika called, in a low voice.

"Here, milady," Franz said. Instead of his usual upbeat attitude, Franz seemed heavily concerned.

"Franz, I don't have the next bit ready just yet," Eirika said conspiratorially. She tiptoed closer to him to whisper, behind the large bush Tana had sent as a gift from Frelia. Frelian winter roses, they were called, pink and cloying, and they only bloomed in the cold. The plant was monstrously huge.

"That's, that's alright, milady," Franz bit his lip. Seth tilted his head, realizing that Franz was now a full few inches taller than Eirika. He'd outgrow Forde at this rate. "Milady, have you seen the General?"

Eirika shook her head and absently fingered the ring on her hand. "No, not since yesterday morning. He promised to speak with me, too, but I haven't caught a glimpse of him since then. Is he very busy?"

"That's hard to say, milady," Franz grimaced. "He didn't report to the King, either, and Ephraim is getting worried. I asked around, and—"

Of course, Seth thought, staring uncomfortably at the ground. I vanished. It's a wonder they're only noticing now. King Ephraim must furious.

_Or extremely worried_, the monster said. The Tail began to wave from side to side.

"What do you mean?" Eirika interrupted. Every part of her locked onto Franz's every word, awaiting an explanation.

"Er," Franz scratched the back of his neck, a nervous habit. He glanced around the Frelian rosebush to see if anyone was within earshot and then leaned in to whisper, "He took off for some sort of emergency yesterday morning and hasn't been back since. We're not alerting anyone just yet, because Dame Elspeth left the same day—"

"Who?"

Another pang of guilt bit at him, generously provided by the drillmaster conscience. Seth did not often mention his family. Most knights were sons, and in some cases, daughters, of other knights who had died in combat. The subject of family was often sore, as it was for Forde and Franz, who had nothing. Some people knew of the Silver Knight's partially noble family in Palgo, and a handful more knew Elsie, since the familial resemblance showed strongly. Eirika knew of neither Palgo or Elsie, and it he was largely to blame.

"Dame Elspeth? Oh . . . doesn't Sir Seth talk about his sisters?" Franz asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

"No, he's never mentioned his family, ever," Eirika said, a trace of betrayal in her voice. Franz broke a smile, despite the seriousness of his nature. Seth suspected that he was trying to alleviate some of the trouble he'd just landed for his superior.

"Oh, well, he's got like . . . twenty of them, milady," Franz played off, waving a hand clumsily. Franz would never be very good at making things up. "Um . . . according to rumors, you know."

Not twenty, Seth thought defensively. In the cool morning shade of the garden, Eirika's face set itself in resolve. He would be in for trouble.

"Well, I must ask after them, then," Eirika decided, finally. "It is most likely a pressing family matter that urged him to leave so suddenly."

Franz nodded. "Yeah, of course."

"Something like that," Seth admitted. Once one started, it was hard to break the habit of talking to oneself.

The young knight noticed the cat at Eirika's feet and grinned. He knelt and held out his hand, presumably for Seth to sniff. He humored Franz. May as well act like a real cat. An extremely clever, but otherwise real, cat. Satisfied, Franz reached out and petted him roughly along the neck.

"And who's this little guy?" Franz inquired, rubbing the spot behind Seth's ears that everyone seemed to find. He attempted another purr.

"My new cat, apparently," Eirika placed a hand on her hip, amused. "I rescued him from the Royal chef. He belonged to a girl working here, but she couldn't keep him."

"Ah," Franz chuckled, climbing to his feet again. "What's his name?"

"Silver."

Franz took another glance at Seth and adopted a skeptical look.

"Like Sir Seth," Eirika said, pointing to her head, smiling wryly. "You know, red hair, the Silver Knight . . .?"

"Oh! Oh, I get it now. Ha. Dunno if he'd like that too much. Alright, Princess, if you don't have anything for me, I'll just take my leave, milady," Franz bowed. Eirika laughed brightly.

"Alright then, my secret courier," she said lightly. "I promise, next week. It'll be finished by next week. I only need to conclude some things."

"Of course, milady," Franz said, sincerely, as he turned to leave through the same door. "Take your time, milady."

Eirika laughed and reached to slap his shoulder playfully, and again, instructed him to be less formal. Seth could only wonder what they were alluding to.

Being a cat at Eirika's heels allowed him a new perspective on her daily life, something he knew almost nothing about. Seth knew that the Princess served on the Royal Council as the King's representative when the King was not present, but he had not known that she had taken up the post as Head of the Castle.

Eirika controlled everything in the Castle, from the cleaning rounds to the menus, which explained the ironclad influence she'd held over Cookie and the girls, especially Miss Clara. Seth supposed that it kept her occupied and feeling useful when her brother didn't need her to speak on his behalf or write up letters to important noblemen and women. Eirika always needed to feel useful, since the war, and perhaps even before then. His relationship with the Princess prior to her father's death had always been formal and detached, whereas Fado had acted almost as a second father to him and Ephraim like a brother.

She had a knack for management, too. Seth wondered if she would have the same gift for arranging noncombatants and supply routes, and if it would be too much to impose on her for advice, once they were married.

_Good,_ the monster approved, clapping in the back. _You've acknowledged that it will, actually, happen. That's a first step._

Despite that she had lost a close friend just hours before, Eirika lay sprawled out on her window seat facing the Great River that supplied the city and the Castle with water, scribbling away in a notebook labeled 'Staff & Finance' along the spine. Seth curled up at her feet, having thoroughly inspected her rooms for anything suspicious, pretending that this wasn't the first time he'd ever seen the interior of her chambers. He never knew that she kept houseplants in all the rooms, five or six, placed by windows.

To the dismay of many, including Eirika, the sunny morning had taken a cloudy turn. She leaned up against a small mountain of pillows, appearing small against the dark sky.

"Where do these clouds come from, Silver?" she had asked absently, before bending to scratch his ears.

A knock on the door made them both jump, and Eirika rapidly stuffed 'Staff & Finances' under a lavender pillow. Seth would have raised an eyebrow if cats had eyebrows.

"Please come in, it's open," she called, pretending to be avidly involved in petting her cat.

The door opened to reveal the dark, stoic figure of Miss Clara. In her arms, she held a sheaf of paperwork. Around her neck hung a curious emblem on a thin chain, a miniature silver broadsword no longer than two knuckles of a finger, framed by Miss Clara's modest black dress. Seth took notice immediately, wondering what sort of significance the necklace held. It certainly looked suspicious. The Tail set itself to thrashing across the white, floral cushion.

"Oh, Silver—don't, she's a friend," Eirika slapped him softly. Seth realized he'd been hissing at Miss Clara without knowing it.

"No, I am used to it, Princess Eirika," Miss Clara said in her monotone voice. "Your brother requests that you transcribe these letters onto the ordinary stationery and these laws into the official Royal papers. He would also ask you to proof the spelling. He could not find Scribe Tal at all this morning."

"Hm, perhaps he's hiding with the General," Eirika commented, jokingly. Seth's gaze remained fixated on Miss Clara as the Princess crossed the room to accept Ephraim's paperwork. His mind didn't even register Eirika's dry humor, not even the monster. There was something he just couldn't place about Miss Clara.

"I would not know, milady," Miss Clara bowed, rigidly formal. Her face did not even wrinkle to laugh at the joke of a noble, as most would. "Shall I search the Castle for him, as well?"

"No, but alert me if you chance to see him," Eirika replied, disappearing into a doorway. That room was her own private study, far smaller than Ephraim's official one. He'd examined the desk, being careful not to knock anything down. She kept it neat and organized, as well.

Miss Clara nodded. "Yes, milady." Miss Clara's dark green eyes stared straight at Eirika's back the way that arrows flew. While he consciously restrained himself from hissing again, Seth watched her unwaveringly. Slowly, like a black basilisk, Miss Clara turned her head to match gazes with the red cat sitting as rigid as she, challenging him. Perhaps Miss Clara was more intuitive than anyone else in Castle Renais. She certainly didn't blink.

"Miss Clara, I don't think I'll be joining Ephraim for dinner, either," Eirika called from the other room. "Could you make sure he knows? And check the stores of ink and tell me if we have any more of that lovely Hargassi blue."

"Yes, milady," Miss Clara repeated dully, like a solemn parrot. Both she and Seth broke their staring contest to attentively watch as Eirika re-entered the room, empty-handed.

Eirika rattled off a few more directions to Miss Clara, most of which seemed oddly mundane for such a uniquely terrifying woman. Moreover, Eirika did not seem to find Miss Clara strange in the slightest. Was this Eirika's inherent gullibility at work? Seth could remember several occasions when the Princess had been fooled by her trusting nature, to great loss.

"I will see to it, milady," Miss Clara bowed, at last preparing to leave. She paused. "May I say one last thing, Princess?"

Eirika said some word of consent. Seth was too preoccupied to listen, tracking Miss Clara's every move.

"Sir Nolan, the Head of Security, wishes you to remain in your bedchambers tonight and not to wander, as you are inclined to. He feels there is sufficient reason to believe that Duchess Freya of Dasyan was not murdered in her room," Miss Clara reported, in the most words she'd said all together at once.

"Is that so?" Eirika asked, intently interested. "What evidence leads him to that conclusion?"

There was no blood beneath her, Seth thought vaguely.

"The wounds and the surroundings did not match. Two hours past, a knight reported that there were signs of a struggle and blood in the gaps between the tiles in one of the minor garden terraces," the woman in black continued. For a moment, a flicker of some indefinable expression crossed her face. "It is my belief that she was murdered _there_ and then dragged to her rooms in the Castle. The villain probably returned to wash the tiles himself, but did a poor job. I would estimate that the Duchess Dasyan was murdered between the hours of one and three, when there are the fewest witnesses awake."

How? Seth thought.

"Why?" asked Eirika, most likely baffled at the thought of anyone taking human life for any unjust reason in a time of peace.

"Without sounding too forward, milady," Miss Clara said, choppily turning to leave the Princess on her own. "Duchess Freya did look very much like you from behind. In the dark of a moonless night, I would assume that you, milady, and the Duchess would have been very nearly indistinguishable. Will milady be taking her supper in her room?"

"Yes, I think so, Miss Clara," Eirika said smoothly, her brow furrowed in thought. "Thank you."

Miss Clara closed the door reverently. Seth's ears twitched as he heard her soft footfalls on the rug until the noise faded. Eirika waited a few seconds, before bowing her head and her hair curtained her face.

"Eirika?" Seth called. "Eirika, are you alright?"

The Princess choked a sob and fell to her knees at the padded window seat. She wrapped her arms around his small body and wept into his fur. Lacking hands, Seth nudged her with his nose. It was close.

"Oh, Silver," she sobbed quietly, peeling strands of hair from her wet cheeks. Her face was streaked with tears, although her eyes had not reddened just yet. "I . . . I can never protect my friends. L-Lyon and Freya . . . and I, maybe I could have prevented Freya's, maybe . . ."

"No," Seth said into her hair, softly. Even though all she heard would be cat meows, he would still try to comfort the woman he loved. "No maybes, they won't help, milady."

He felt like running through a few maybes himself, though. Maybe if he had been free of the storeroom, maybe if he hadn't been a cat . . . Eirika sniffled, and stroked his back, grateful to her cat that at least seemed to understand she was sad. Eirika climbed into the comfort her assorted pillows, not even removing 'Staff & Finances.' She curled up, tucking her legs up so she was a ball. Seth hesitated, unsure of where the lines of propriety were drawn in this situation. Eirika lifted her face and wiped a stream of tears away.

"Here, kitty, kitty," she mumbled, stretching out her arms to him. He rushed to her, nestling into her embrace and comforting her as only an affectionate cat could. Cat were not overly concerned with propriety.

They stayed that way for a long while, with Seth's head resting reassuringly on her shoulder, waiting for the tears to dry and the hiccups to stop. Raindrops sprinkled on the glass next to them, and then turned into a heavy fall. And despite the grim circumstance, Seth found that he could not remember a time that they had been so close for so long, without one of them bleeding from a grievous wound.

Eirika breathed delicately, lulled asleep by her tears and the rain and a warm, little body next to her. Seth kept himself awake, standing watch. Tonight, as the majority of the Castle slept, he would go hunting for an assassin. Perhaps there was an advantage to being a cat; no assassin would expect to be wary of a household pet, especially one so stringy. Maybe Lune wasn't quite the total nutter she made herself out to be.

"Milady!"

Eirika jolted, and sent Seth sprawling. The door smacked the wall, violently flung open. She swung from her curled position to an alert one, discreetly wiping all traces of her cry. Standing at the door was young Sir Franz, assistant to the Head of Security, accompanied by Dame Amelia, who held in her hands . . . oh, no . . .

"Milady, Sir Seth's horse returned just now, riderless, and—"

Amelia pushed the sheathed silver sword out in front of her and Franz, her face a mask of panic. Emblazoned scabbard was the silver crest of Palgo and three metal bands of rank.

"Sir Magas and his party found this returning on the King's Road," she blurted out. "His boots, weapons, uniform, everything—the General has vanished, milady! King Ephraim fears the worst!"

Oh, _no._

**..0..**

**This chapter is dedicated to my dear friend and gossiper-in-crime, Taylor, and the _real_ Johnny. May all your romance novels have ten-page sex scenes, Taylor. **


	2. Candlesticks wSwitches

**_The Many Adventures of Silver the Cat_**

_Written by Lady Erina of Renais Court, retyped for your pleasure by Meelu the Bold_

**The Second Chapter:**

"**Experimental Candlesticks w/Switches, g250 Per Pair," or**

"**Silver the Cat Meets His Match."**

"What do you mean?" Eirika trembled.

_Well,_ the monster remarked, _you did disappear into thin air on the roadside._

Amelia bowed as she came further into the room, offering the sword to Eirika. Seth cringed. Poor Eirika did not get a break, going from one emotional trauma to the next—the loss of a friend and then the vanishing act of a . . . somehow, he didn't feel like he spent enough time _with_ her to justifiably call himself her lover. Seth settled for fiancé, but somehow that didn't fit either.

"He's . . . disappeared? Has a-anyone contacted his family? How about Kyle or Forde or Nolan—" Eirika asked. She did not reach for the sword, but switched her gaze back and forth between Franz and Amelia.

"No, milady," Franz gulped. "But the King, he's putting top priority on the search. We're dispatching whatever we can spare to relay messages to Palgo –er, his hometown, milady—and to form search parties, although King Ephraim is hesitant to announce the disappearance officially."

No! Seth cringed, his stomach sinking. The Tail whipped side-to-side, unpleased. No, _don't_ lessen the guard! There's an assassin on the loose! _I'm not that important! Don't do stupid things just because I'm not here to make you stop!_

"I see."

Eirika bit her lip, staring wide eyed off into the distant plane of her own sitting room wall. It was painted off-white, with a pink trim, as if she'd never grown out of being a young girl.

She reached for the little square table she used for eating privately, just big enough for two. Patting the surface to make sure it was still solid, Eirika eased herself into an elegantly carved chair. To her credit, it didn't look like she was about to break out into tears. Seth glanced back at Franz, who looked highly uncomfortable.

"Milady, I'm sure that this is just a misunderstanding," he began, taking a step forward to speak. Amelia followed close behind, putting a hand on his arm. Seth followed that action with a raise of the invisible eyebrow. "I'll bet anything that he's . . . he's with his family or just stopped along the way, helping someone to get on with their life."

Eirika rewarded Franz for his trouble with a stare that would make an Archmogall wet the ground beneath it in fear.

"Without clothes," she asked, bluntly. "If everything was just _dumped_ at the roadside . . . what do you think that means, Franz?"

Suicide or bandits, Seth thought. Either a really bad suicide or really good bandits, to take the legendary Silver Knight. Not very flattering ways to meet his end. And even then, bandits that good would've grabbed his sword and Johnny, who was certainly worth as much as a fine weapon. Arguably more, if he thought on every time that Johnny had saved his life.

"Er . . ."

"It's alright," the Princess said, smoothing her hair and forcing out a dignified expression. "I'm sorry, I just . . . I'm sure you're absolutely right, Franz. Please, carry on with your duties."

Franz and Amelia bowed in unison.

"Yes, milady."

The two young knights left quickly, closing the door behind them. Seth noted, suspiciously, that halfway through, Amelia slipped her hand into Franz's, discreetly.

_Hmm_, said the monster, tapping its chin thoughtfully. _Do you suppose there's something going on there?_

Eirika, on the other hand, leaned over her clasped hands on the table, with her hair falling around her like a cowl. Concerned, Seth jumped from the window seat cushion and clumsily tumbled to the ground on all four feet at last. Well, if nothing else came from this that was good, Seth consoled himself, he would have a superior sense of balance.

"Eirika?" he said. He nudged her leg with his head, for lack of proper hands.

She swallowed thickly and looked down at the stringy old tom on the floor. She smiled boldly, leaning over to scratch his ears.

"I'm alright, Silver, no need to worry," she said. Her voice carried strong, he supposed and she wasn't bursting into tears, so perhaps this wasn't too harsh of a blow. Seth knew her better than that, at least.

She clasped her hands and rested her chin over the table, deep in emotionless thought, or so he could see from the floor. Even if he could work up the courage to break just about every rule of court etiquette and/or chivalry to jump up on her lap, Seth doubted he would be able to do so just yet without clawing off a portion of her thighs. So much for normal cat behavior.

". . ." Eirika lifted her head. Her mouth was set in a funny, quivering line. "It's my fault. I'm to blame."

"I'm sorry?" Seth asked, not sure if he heard her correctly.

"I harassed him when I shouldn't have," Eirika continued, absently petting her cat's neck. Her touch, usually gentle, was now a little too abrasive for his (or any cat's, for that matter) tastes, but Seth was too busy trying to understand Eirika correctly to care at all. "I knew it he'd been having a rough time of it, lately, Silver, I really did. I should have just said hello and been done with it. I'm a fool."

Eirika bit her lip, and glanced around the room to see if he'd pop out anywhere, as unlikely as it was. Her hysteria became a little more vigorous, until she was almost smacking the cat at her feet in a downward, repetitive motion.

"A fool! I'm a nagging old bat, and I'm not even married! I'm not even twenty! No wonder he doesn't want to wed me—" she said, staring off into the distance of her bedroom door. Instead of actually stroking, she was floppily waving her hand near cat fur and hitting it mostly by luck. Eirika pulled hair from her face with her other hand, and looked like she might cry again. She sniffed, long and loud.

_Now look what you've done, you sniveling little runt. Drop and give me twenty,_ said a gravelly voice in the back of his head. It was most definitely not the monster.

Dear Gods in heaven, my conscience has a voice, too, Seth thought, only a little surprised by now. What unnerved him was how very much like the old drillmaster it spoke. I'm unsound. I ought to join Madam Lune in the nutter club. Tea and cakes on Saturdays. It'll be fruitcake, with my luck.

_Pay attention, carrot-top, or we'll add another twenty to that!_

_­_Shaking away the minor trauma of hearing voices in his head, Seth looked up at Eirika's distraught face. All thoughts of schizophrenia fled and concern and love took over.

"Eirika, please don't blame yourself," Seth begged. "I'm fine. I'm just not myself at the moment, so please don't be so harsh—"

At that, Eirika's hand came sweeping his way, and knocked him on his side. He yowled sharply.

"Oh, ye Gods—Silver, I'm so sorry!" Eirika exclaimed shrilly. When Seth's vision returned a second later, and his head stopped spinning, she was already on her knees. "Oh, please forgive me, I'm just . . . I suppose I'm getting a little histrionic. I apologize, Silver."

"You do not have to apologize, milady," Seth said, staggering momentarily. "It was just my head . . . ooh . . ."

It was perhaps the most pathetic meow he uttered since becoming a cat, and he'd already made the records, by his reckoning. Perhaps Eirika was entirely correct to be concerned . . . but no, getting bowled over by a Princess hardly compared to being gored, stabbed or otherwise injured by angry insurgents with pitchforks. Or Valter, Seth thought darkly, but only because his had done the most lasting ill.

"Poor kitty," Eirika murmured. She rubbed his chin affectionately. "I'm being silly. I can't help being worried . . ."

Of course not, Seth thought guiltily. Lately, most of his time was spent feeling guilty for some reason or another. He had to find some way to assure the King and Eirika that he was perfectly fine, just . . . gone. A letter, perhaps, but he now lacked fingers and the magic to manipulate objects was something that he'd never, ever attain, being as magically inept as he was.

"I . . . I think I will eat supper with Ephraim after all," Eirika mumbled, combing through her hair with her fingers.

_See, what that really means is that she's going to grill him for information_, commented the monster. Funny, after the drillmaster's cameo as his conscience, the black monster of selfishness and sin seemed almost normal.

And with her brother to comfort her and to keep her from doing drastic things, Seth decided firmly, I can finally start looking for this assassin. That may have presumed too much of Ephraim; if anything, he was _more_ drastic than Eirika. But as long as the two of them were together in a public place (the Lesser Hall counted as a public place, always full of other noblemen and women, not to mention the not-quite-as-invisible-as-he-used-to-think servants), he could feel marginally at ease.

Eirika sighed, stood up and walked into her bedroom, and then back out again. She paused, and examined the hem of her white skirt. Her brow furrowed, seeing invisible faults. It might have been his viewpoint, but Seth could see no flaws in her appearance, although admittedly, he might be a little biased. She sighed, and turned around to go back in her bedroom.

Seth shifted uncomfortably as he waited for her to reemerge. After keeping tabs on the Princess' every move nearly all day, letting her out of his sight proved difficult. Every muscle in his little cat body tensed as he heard her grunt, as if in pain.

I've broken every other rule, he thought as he dashed, unhesitating, through the door. Everything in this room was _pink_, he first noticed, like walking into the mind of a five-year-old girl. A vastly feminine five-year-old girl, whom he supposed Eirika must have been at one point in time. Lace and potted plants were everywhere, in corners and on flat surfaces. Eirika stood doubled over, her torso thin and rigid, in a state of half-dress. She seemed winded, but fine. This was the most of her skin he'd ever seen. He tried to stare fixatedly at her feet.

"Oh, Silver," she panted, smiling. "I'm sorry, did I worry you? It's just a corset. My lady's maids lace it up a lot tighter, never fear—I like to do it myself so I can breathe. Still—one suffers to accommodate fashion—"

Eirika straightened her back, holding a hand over her belly as she sucked in a breath. Seth glanced away. As she dug through her wardrobe for an appropriate gown, he stared pointedly at the lace on the edge of her covers, and remembered ironically one particular instance, where, already covered in greenish monster blood, Eirika had brutally run her sword through the backside of a Bael and been spattered with sticky white silk and guts. That had been to cover him as he had been distracted, dispatching a Gorgon. Somehow, it felt strange to know that secretly, the Princess kept everything she owned very ladylike and girlish.

Did she consider that Bael more or less troublesome than the corset?

"Alright, then," Eirika murmured, admiring herself in the mirror. She held up her hair to see about putting it up, but ultimately decided against it. A good choice, Seth approved, finally feeling that it was morally correct to look at her again. Eirika's hair fanned out behind her as she walked, and the effect was flattering on her.

The dress he did not recognize. Eirika must have updated her wardrobe in the time he'd been gone to suit a more formal sort of woman, with long silk dresses and of course, the wretched corset. The one she wore now was not unlike the rose-colored dress she'd worn two days before, only this one was a deep midnight blue that contrasted with her blue-green hair and eyes nicely. Seth watched as she fastened blue-jeweled earrings on and twisted her ring so the stone was facing up.

"I'll just ask Ephraim a few questions," she resolved to her mirror. "Maybe I can lead the search party."

Seth would have frowned if cats had that capacity. He weighed the options; it would get at least the Princess out of Castle, but not knowing who the assassin was meant that he just might join the Princess on her ride to look for the man who was trying to protect her. No, it would be better if the Princess stayed where he could watch over her.

Eirika knelt to give Seth one last scratch behind the ears, smiling.

"Sorry, Silver," she apologized for maybe the third time. "You can't come with me, sweets."

Sweets? Well . . .

_You are a cat, _the monster said. It shrugged, although he wasn't sure how he knew that something in his mind shrugged.

True, Seth gave in, and then realized he'd replied to a manifestation of his mind and that it hadn't been the first time, either. Totally mad, he sighed, as he watched Eirika's heeled shoes cross the carpets. He was going totally mad.

**..0..**

With Eirika safe under the eyes of her protective brother, Seth was free to roam, as he had planned. The floor of Castle Renais, however, seemed completely inhospitable to all cats. Several times, he'd been kicked by the odd hurried maid or pageboy—had he ever been that frantic as a page? Eleven, going on thirty. Yes, that had been him.

Maybe he'd issue some sort of 'kindness to cats' order amongst the recruits and pages. Of course, he'd need to be human to do that, and by then, there would be no point except to save Socksie, and he didn't even know her. Perhaps, if cats could communicate amongst each other, he could beseech her help in tracking down the murderer.

The very first thing he needed to do, though, was check on Johnny. The black stallion was almost as well-known as he, and to those that he rescued, twice as well-loved. Eirika, for instance, always had an apple on hand whenever she saw his coal-black face.

To get to the stables, one had to pass through the courtyard, and subsequently the little area chalked off for trainee combat practice. A congregation of boys—and one or two girls, he amended, with their hair cropped short like how Elsie did—stood near a wall, gathered around in a circle. From the looks and sounds of it, they were standing around something interesting, and probably against trainee code. Cat he may have been, but inside Seth was still the General. He trotted over immediately to see if he could put an end to it.

By sneaking between the legs of some recruits, Seth gleaned a clearer view of their activity of choice. A female page rattled a pair of wooden dice in a cup, boldly calling for bets. _Gambling_. A definite breach of code for recruits, although full-fledged knights were allowed to take a roll or too, if it fancied them. After watching Forde lose his money to King Joshua, repeatedly, Seth decided it was too chancy for his tastes. Though he played a few card games with the other knights, it was always for fun, and usually late at night when no one had anymore stories to tell. And also . . . wait for it . . .

The girl, kneeling on the packed dirt in front of a pile of coins, shook the little cup hard. From one opening, she let a die fall into the loose cloth gauntlet she wore, hiding it under her gauntlet. On the opposite side of the cup, there must have been some sort of opening, probably a sliding-out sort of bit, because Seth could see her slip in another die, probably loaded. It was only because he was so low to the ground that he saw her move, and that his eyes were already sharp.

_And you _trained_ these no-good piss-faced heathens? _the drillmaster ranted. _What happened to _my_ lessons? You were _afraid_ to do _anything_ but toe the gods-be-damned line!_

He'd do something more permanent when he was tall, imposing and man-shaped. For now, it was enough to break up the little betting hall. Preparing for a phenomenal smack afterwards, Seth leapt forward, barreling in a jump at the girl. His claws dug into the leather of her gauntlet and he even managed to sink some teeth into her deft fingers. She dropped the cup mid-way, revealing its secrets.

"Eugia!" a boy's voice cried out. Albar, Seth thought as Eugia shrieked and smacked him across the ears.

"Damn cat!" she screeched, striking him over the head again, this time with a closed fist. Ow, ow, ow, at least she learned something from him, ow, ow, ow.

"What's going on out here?" roared the familiar voice of Sir Garcia, appearing from seemingly nowhere. Ah, Sir Garcia. Almost as pants-wettingly frightening as the old drillmaster, except that Garcia'd never actively terrorized Seth in his years as a recruit and then later as a cavalier. And Garcia would never think of calling him 'carrot-top.'

As he recalled, the drillmaster's life had been tragically taken in the midst of a rant, specifically on personal hygiene, due to a sudden heart attack. Seth had been around seventeen, and hadn't been surprised in the least. He wasn't even certain that he'd been sorry.

He bolted immediately from Eugia's reached, letting go just as a horde of angry gamblers descended on Eugia the cheat, and Garcia descended on them. At forty feet away, Seth glanced behind him to view his handiwork. Two or three managed to slink away, penniless, but the majority cowered nervously as Garcia began to voice his displeasure. Seth reserved a little pity for those Eugia had swindled, and then for Eugia herself. Punishment from Garcia had always leaned over into the hard labor category.

"What's this! Petty dice-rolling in the _Royal Castle?_" Garcia raged.

Seth marched onward to the stable, passing a few more reliable pages, and stable boys. He spotted his own squire, Jake, leaning up against a wall and flirting with an older girl he recognized as a distant cousin, Anna, who he'd actually placed in the Castle as a seamstress. He remembered writing the recommendation letter.

He passed them by, nonchalantly as possible. The key was to make it look like cats wandered into the stable everyday, completely unafraid of the horses there, which could easily trample him under hoof. For the most part, Seth ignored that possibility.

Seth sneezed as he entered, the little particles of dust and hay getting into what was proving to be a delicate cat nose. He didn't even know cats could sneeze before becoming one. Although it hadn't been officially announced there were now warnings of bandits, particularly vicious ones, and the animals must have been taken in early. He envisioned the griping and grumbling of disgruntled farmers and herders around the Castle; didn't that ruddy General clear out all of those nasty types? Where is he now?

Seth looked down the rows of animals. Most of the older horses looked down at him, amused that such a tiny creature would dare enter here. A lone stable remained, mucking an empty stall.

"Excuse me!" Seth called hopefully. One did not climb all the way to the top by giving up after a few unsuccessful attempts. "Could you tell me where my horse is? Johnny, the big black one."

The boy gave him an odd glance, but did not move from his duty. No help from magically inclined laborers here. However, someone else came to his rescue, and consequently shocked a few years out of his life.

"Oh, good ole Johnny, then?" a chipper voice intoned from above. "He's right over there, littlun."

Seth looked up. The horse was talking.

"Ye Gods!"

"What about them?" the chestnut gelding asked amiably. It was Griochnebobb, he saw, Kyle's unfortunately named steed. If Seth had ever given thought to how a horse might sound if it could talk, he would have never associated Grikey with such a spry voice and manner.

"You . . . you can talk!" he said, wide-eyed, even for a cat.

"Yes, sir!" Grikey replied cheerfully, tossing his head. "And so can you, littlun. I'm Griochnebobb, but all me friends call me Grikey."

"Yes," Seth said, composing himself. He shouldn't be surprised at all. He could talk, however it came out. "I know."

"What's that, littlun? How could you know me when I've not met you meself?" Grikey asked.

"I'm . . ." would it be insane to say that he was the human rider of Johnny? Would Grikey laugh? Seth had a feeling that Grikey would laugh no matter what he said. Grikey was that sort of fellow. "I'm Seth. The knight. I was human once and—"

"You too, then?" Grikey brightened. Seth was dumbstruck as Grikey continued. "I mean, I'm horse, through and through, but sometimes Kyle's little lady turns some poor boy into a toucan or some creature. I hear about the little lady all the time."

"Do you mean to say that there are others like me?" Seth asked, horrified. Lute had to be stopped. It was terrible enough learning to walk as a cat; flying as an exotic bird would be even more difficult.

"No! Not anymore at least," Grikey replied. "Kyle made her change them back. They got into a flaming argument about the whole mess. Didn't hear about anything else for weeks on end, but the little lady stopped in the end. Now all me rider talks about is that little colt she's carrying; congratulations to them, no doubt, but dear Epona in the fields above, if that isn't tiresome after the first fifty times!"

Epona? He'd never heard of her. Seth supposed it was some sort of horse-god.

"My gratitude, Sir Grikey," Seth said, bowing his head respectfully. "Just over there?"

"No problems, sir, no problems at all," the horse said, suddenly bashful. What an airy personality for Kyle's horse! Seth navigated over the muddy floor to where Grikey had pointed, with his snout. Fortunately, cats were too light to sink _really_ deep into the muck.

Johnny stood still, with his eyes closed. Not so much of a black nightmare, anymore, now that he was calm and placid. Seth cleared his throat and addressed his old companion.

"Erm . . . Johnny?" he ventured tentatively. The warhorse blinked awake, lazily looking down at him before standing a little straighter. Seth wouldn't have noticed if he had thought Johnny was just a horse, albeit an exceptional one.

"Sir?" Johnny replied, flattening his ears, staring straight down at the cat before his stall. "Sir Seth, is that you?"

"Yes," Seth confirmed. Johnny relaxed, and snorted. Was that the horse way of sighing? Whatever it was, Seth felt vaguely pleased to know that someone knew he was just fine, more or less. Most other horses, intrigued, quieted themselves to listen, although some were sleeping. The stable boy took this moment to look up.

"It is a relief to see you again, sir, even if it's not the same you!" Johnny exclaimed. "I thought I might have crushed you in my panic, sir. I'm shamed, sir, I was trained better than that."

"No, no," Seth said. How very strange, to be talking to your horse like he was just another knight. "I am unharmed. Forget that. I'll admit that I was a trifle shocked, too."

"Yes, sir," Johnny said. If he were human, he may have saluted.

"And you? Any lasting damage?"

"No, sir. Had a run in with a farmer in a wheatfield, but he was kind enough to return me to the Castle, sir."

"Ah. Good work, Johnny."

"Ah, do you think so, sir?

This was familiar, restorative talk, even if it was with a horse. Johnny was no different from a militant Franz, really. Perhaps when Forde left, Seth could ask Nolan to spare his assistant so that he would have another pair of capable hands. Seth nodded.

"Anything else, sir?" Johnny asked, sounding relieved. Seth furrowed his cat-brow, another thing cats could do.

"Yes. There's a murderer on the loose—an assassin. I want you to spread the word amongst the other horses and keep a sharp eye out for anything suspicious," Seth ordered. "This assassin threatens the life of the King and Princess."

"What?" exclaimed a sleepy voice, feminine voice behind Seth's back. He twisted his neck to see. It was Hope, Eirika's sweet mare. Eirika had a tendency to lavish attention and affection on those close to her, and effectively spoiled Hope rotten for years. Apparently, the feeling between Princess and horse was mutual. "Not my Princess, not on my watch. Listen everyone! This little kitty's got something very important to say and you all should hear it!"

Every head turned. Even the stable boy watched, amazed at the miracle of one battered tomcat holding council with a stable full of high-ranking horses.

"Thank you, Dame Hope," Seth said. It _was_ easier to address her, thinking of her as just another knight assigned to the Princess' protection.

_Nutter_, the monster accused playfully.

"There is a murderer crawling in the halls of the castle," Seth announced. "I have reason to believe that he is an assassin, and that his targets will be King Ephraim II and Princess Eirika. If this is so, then there is a strong possibility that he is not working alone. My guess is Grado-loyal rebels, but there are other organizations at work that we have reason to fear. If any strange types are to suddenly appear in your midst, I am to know. Communication between an assassin and his employers is key to their success. If we can catch them this way, all the better. "

"Get a load of this, Jasin!"

"Holy hells, it's like . . . like they're _listening_ to him!"

Oh, right. Seth swallowed, patiently keeping his dignity by ignoring the astounded pair of stable boys.

"That said, I will check in with Sir Johnny each night succeeding this until the villain is found," Seth finished.

"Can do!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Got it!"

The chorus of whinnies of affirmation echoed all the way down the stalls. The unfortunate stable boys took this as a bad sign, and rushed to calm the excited horses and to kick that damn cat out. Seth hurried away from Jasin's boot before he received another kick in the ass—he was collecting several, too, since becoming a cat.

"Good luck, sir!" Grikey's voice called over the din as Seth raced out.

After achieving suitable distance from anything that wanted to harm him, Seth slowed to a walk, heaving a sigh. The horses had been a start. What other animals lived in the Castle? If he couldn't take command of the knights, he would use whatever resources he had on hand.

If he remembered correctly, King Fado had owned a dog . . .

**..0..**

Bear did not so much walk as lumber along, as he was very big. But these days he did not walk much, nor was he inclined to. Ephraim kept him in his rooms, surprised and relieved that the hardy dog from his childhood had survived Grado's invasion and possession of the Castle despite being almost twenty years old. Now, Bear _was_ twenty years old, and all he did was lie on the soft mound of blankets the King set aside for him and lap water and soft food from a dish.

Ephraim didn't complain. He must have found the old dog a comfort. By all means, the animal should have been dead years ago. Bear probably wouldn't be able to do a thing were Ephraim assaulted as he slept. Why was he going to ask the decrepit sheepdog for help?

_Ephraim counts as a sheep, I suppose,_ the monster in his head countered. _You certainly think so._

It was getting easier and easier to ignore the blasted little voice in the back of his head.

Luckily, the King was disappointingly slapdash about everything and the door stood open, just wide enough for a skinny cat to sneak through. Inside was just about as messy as his study. These particular rooms had once belonged to King Fado, and Ephraim had moved in as custom dictated. Eirika had received all of her tidiness from Fado, whereas Ephraim had gotten short-ended.

Bear didn't seem to mind the difference. He lay slumped in the quilts, looking very dead.

"Please forgive me," Seth began. He was speaking some feet away from Bear, in case the old dog still had it in him to eat a cat. Bear sucked in a mighty snore and ignored him.

My running has improved immensely, Seth comforted himself, and took a step closer to the great shaggy lump. "Please forgive me," he repeated, a little bit louder. Bear snored a little bit louder.

Once, years ago, when Seth had been called in to King Fado's study (to be promoted to General, although he had not known that then), he had witnessed the dog in his prime. As Seth recalled, Bear had always been lazy, and defiantly disagreeable to most people and commands. Despite that, King Fado had sworn that there was no better dog than Bear and that he did justice to the quality of Renaitian sheepdogs. How had Fado gotten around Bear's innate sloth . . .? Oh, right.

Preparing to turn and run the moment things got toothy and violent, Seth took a deep breath and shouted, "WAKE UP, YOU LAZY OAF!"

Bear lifted his head obediently, searching for his former master. "Fado?" it mumbled under a sheet of fur.

"No, just me," Seth said, still very tense.

Bear's vision must have been going, although behind all the fur it was difficult to tell. He leaned forward, heaving bad breath and wheezes into Seth's face.

"Yumble a ca-umble," Bear mumbled. He slumped down again.

"Excuse me, could you repeat that?"

Bear peeked out of one dark eye. He couldn't have looked more disinterested if he tried. His voice boomed, very much like the previous King's. He sounded weatherworn and wise, like an old, old soldier. "You're a cat. Why should I bother with you, cat?"

"My name is Seth, and I'm not a cat, I'm a man," he replied, raising his voice for the dog's benefit.

Bear breathed out. It wasn't a sigh, but it was close enough, and it spoke of distinct annoyance.

"You look like a cat," Bear said. He sunk further into the blankets.

"I'm under a spell," Seth said wearily. The horses had been far readier to accept his new shape than Bear, especially Grikey. Magic and spells were more commonplace to horses bred for resistance, he supposed.

"Good spell," Bear commented. He didn't sound very impressed. "What sort of magician made you a cat, then, cat?"

"A ghost," Seth said, feeling very silly. To his surprise, Bear immediately perked up.

"Fado?" he asked, his gaze boring through the fur curtain over his black eyes.

Seth shook his head. "No, a woman named Lune. She is—she was the grandmother of our current Royal Librarian. Does the late King Fado appear to you?"

"No," Bear said, sadly. "But sometimes my senile tricks me into thinking it is so."

Bear began rocking side to side. Seth stared at him, wondering what exactly was happening. A massive shaggy paw emerged, followed by another. Bear still lay across the blankets, but now he had clambered to rest on his own paws. He was as close to standing as he could muster.

"Tell me, cat," Bear said. "Why do you disturb my rest? I'm served my purpose and I've lived my life. I am a dog on my last legs, cat, just waiting for death to take me."

"The life of the King is being threatened, Sir Bear," Seth said, ignoring any other more subtle or formal explanation. "A murderer roams the halls of Castle Renais. An assassin."

Bear's eyes widened in alarm, and then hardened. His throat rumbled with a low, angry growl.

"I protected Fado in his sleep all my life," Bear said, his voice deep with unquestioned loyalty and resolution. "I may be weak and feeble now, but I can still serve my master by serving his son. Little Ephraim will have nothing to fear as long as I watch over him, cat. I pledge on the trident of Renais that this is so."

Deep within himself, Seth felt a familiar stirring. Once, years ago, he had met a man like this, one that had inspired him to work his hardest and give his all, never mind the obstacles. Although Bear was now ancient and frail, his presence filled the room like only a knight of great valor could, and it made his charges feel safe and protected. Once, years ago . . .

"King Ephraim will have no better guardian, Sir Bear," Seth replied, sincerely. "You have my gratitude."

He bowed his head reverently. To his shock, Bear copied him, pushing his head far towards the thick quilts.

"You're a good cat, cat," Bear said. "Even if you are a man at a heart."

It had not been a mistake to come to Sir Bear. He was as much a knight as Johnny and Grikey; perhaps more than that. He was a real General, retired but real, the kind that Seth strived to be.

"Tell me, Sir Bear," Seth asked before leaving for Eirika's side. "Which kennel is it that you were born to?"

"None, cat," Bear said, at last allowing himself to recline once more into the blankets, conserving energy for when the King would need him. "I was born to the bitch Sugar, who was kept by Fredrick, a knight of the realm, to play with his own pups."

"Thank you," Seth said absently. No small wonder then, that Bear reminded him of the knight he idolized as a youth, the father of Forde and Franz.

Bear did not answer, but he knew the old dog was listening. Respectfully, Seth quietly exited the room to rejoin with Eirika, who would be finishing her inquisition dinner with Ephraim by now. Eirika, normally gentle as lamb, could be a surprisingly powerful negotiator when she wanted to. If she wasn't heading the search team for him by now . . .

Which meant, Seth thought unhappily as he crossed a passage in the Royal wing, that he needed to get a message to her somehow, telling her that he was not dead or in the custody of ruthless cutthroats. Putting an end to this search party nonsense was the top of the list, because, Gods know, every set of arms was needed here.

After that, he would take another look at the Duchess' bedroom—Miss Clara probably had no idea what she was talking about, but it never hurt to look. A fat mouse scurried past him. Deep in thought, Seth ignored it until a smooth, sultry voice asked, "Are you going to get that, or me?"

Seth halted and looked around. Usually, he could hear an approaching newcomer before they even turned the corner. The voice belonged to a calico that had snuck up from an angle, and her steps were deathly silent. Her splotched tail stood gracefully erect and flowed behind her as she walked. Her four dainty paws were socked orange, brown and black.

"I don't believe we've met," Seth said. The Tail swished once or twice. Socksie stretched languidly across the floor. "You must be Miss Socksie."

"You're kind of skinny," Socksie commented. She sounded disappointed. "And don't call me that wretched moniker."

"Is that not your name?" Seth asked, being as polite as possible. It must have been a cat instinct infringing on his human ones, because he was beginning to detest Socksie and her arrogance.

"No," Socksie said, keeping her distance so far. She sat down and began to idly clean her paws and ears. "And I bet your name isn't really Silver, is it?"

"That's correct," Seth said uncomfortably. "My name is Seth."

"Hmm," Socksie's nose twitched. "How boring. I have a beautiful name—Caramia."

"That is lovely," Seth agreed quickly. "If you'll excuse me, I need to be somewhere."

He tried to slip around her, but Caramia blocked his way instantly. She was faster and more agile than him, probably since she'd been a cat all her life. Caramia peered closer to examine him.

"You _are_ skinny," she said, as if rating him on a scorecard. "And beat up, too. Did you win many fights, then, before coming to this hellhole?"

"I beg your forgiveness, but I have to be somewhere," Seth said a little more forcefully. Caramia backed off, twitching her nose again. She was pretending to be affronted, he could tell. Caramia seemed very false.

"Can't you spare a moment and make love to me?" Caramia sniffed.

"What?"

_Even I'm surprised_, the monster said, backing off. _You're on your own, boy._

"I said, can't you take a little time out of your oh-so-busy schedule to make love to me, _Seth_," she said, spitting out his name like a dirty word. "Don't look so surprised. I like five-toed toms."

"No," he said, flatly. He was still amazed she had the nerve to even say that to him. "And even if I wasn't preoccupied, the answer would _still_ be no."

If Caramia was amazed that he had the nerve to refuse her, though, he had not stopped to look back and find out. Perhaps there had been no cat instinct involved at all; perhaps he just didn't like Caramia, entirely on her own. Seth decided not to bother with asking Caramia to help him track down the murderer.

Another mouse scurried past him. Ye Gods, there were so many mice in the Castle and no one did a thing, probably not even Caramia, the actual cat. Seth wondered exactly how difficult it was to catch a mouse. Mice, though, could get into places without being noticed or bothered by obstacles. If he managed to talk to one, they would make finer allies than Caramia would.

". . . the Pontifex?"

Eirika's voice drifted through the corridor. Seth heard Ephraim mutter something incomprehensible. He quickened his pace a little more, turning a corner to see them standing just outside a door. Ephraim's study, probably, since he spent long evening hours there nowadays, sifting through the documents pushed on him by both the Royal and Common Councils. Mostly reparations acts, Seth thought, thinking on all the bureaucratic hoops he'd jumped through himself in the past year.

"Yes, I need you to take dictations for me," Ephraim said. His voice sounded taut and tired. "Until Seth returns, I won't travel anywhere, much less Rausten. The Pontifex has every right to know the reason why, as soon as possible."

"Of course, Brother," Eirika nodded. A flash of red at the other end of the hall must have caught her eye. "Oh, here, kitty, kitty. Here, Silver. Here, sweets."

_I'm not laughing at you,_ said the monster in between giggles. _Just near you._

Admittedly, it was humiliating to be responding to a baby-voice and a ridiculous nickname, but he came to her anyway. Eirika knelt briefly and scratched his ears welcomingly before standing. Ephraim raised an eyebrow.

"My new cat," she explained. To Seth's surprise, she scooped him up and held him tenderly as she talked. "One of the maids had him and she couldn't keep him. . ."

Ephraim raised a hand. "Say no more, my soft-hearted Sister. But why Silver? He looks like a red tabby to me."

"Well, yes, that's the point," Eirika said, with a touch of laughter to her voice. The joke doesn't ever get old to her, Seth thought. I'm not amused. But it was nice to hear her happy when things were going very wrong everywhere else. "I suppose you could call him my replacement Silver Knight."

Ephraim shook his head before unlocking the door to let them in. The paperwork inside must have meant more to him than his dog. Or rather, the paperwork probably meant more to other people than a very old Royal pet. The piles inside were still as mountainous as he'd left them. Document thieves would have found King Ephraim's innate disorganization a more daunting obstacle than any lock or bar.

"Eirika, use the, the good stuff, what is it?" Ephraim asked, snapping his fingers to jolt his memory.

"Vellum," Eirika supplied. She took her place at her desk and set Seth on her lap. He sat very still for her as she dug around in a drawer for another notebook and carefully cut out a sheet. "Why not just normal paper? She probably has them read to her while she's working, like you do. Rennac won't know the difference."

"No," Ephraim said. There was a noticeable tinge of nervousness to normally unshakable voice. "L'Arachel will know."

"Alright," Eirika said, pen in hand. "I'm ready."

Ephraim sighed, and switched into dictation mode. "'To Her Majesty, the Pontifex L'Arachel Aurelia Manselius; one line; Divine and Saintly Empress of Rausten; two lines; I send my deepest regrets and plead for forgiveness that I will not be able to appear in your Holy Court as previously agreed. An emergency of the gravest' . . . er . . ."

"'Urgency?'" Eirika suggested, stroking Seth's neck absently with her off-hand. Ephraim had been absolutely correct about her penmanship. It simply flowed off the nib of her pen in looping curls, hardly a margin of variation to be found.

"'Urgency,'" Ephraim nodded. "'Has arisen and forces our plans aside.' Break."

Eirika looked up, dipping the pen back into the inkwell. "What's wrong, Brother?"

Ephraim paced the length of the thick carpet, deep in thought, as if he couldn't answer that question. He's trying to decide whether or not to tell the Pontifex why he can't go as planned, Seth realized. Admitting that I'm gone puts Renais in a bad position, despite that Rausten and Renais are now close allies. And were there not rebel groups arising in the Holy Theocracy of Rausten, striving to throw off the chains of the Gods from their government? Ephraim wanted to keep the situation quiet for now.

A knock on the door made all three heads snap to the door. Eirika's hands tensed on Seth's neck, anticipating something she knew would not happen. The door did not swing open as it would have, had it been Seth on the other side.

"You may come in," Ephraim said, disappointed. The door opened to reveal Emmie with a load of wood and a smile.

"Good evening, your Majesty, your Highness," she bobbed two skillful curtseys, carrying what must be an incredibly heavy load.

"Good evening, Miss Emmie," Eirika grinned, raising up Seth above the desk to show her and moved a five-toed paw in a wave hello. He could hear the monster snicker, not even trying half-heartedly to block it out.

"Hi, Silver!" she mouthed, sparing a hand to wave back. Emmie tottered over to the hearth and began her work. Ephraim paced a little more, running a hand through his hair.

Ephraim must always notice servants, Seth thought, because I would have kept dictating.

This seemed very strange to him, because Ephraim had grown up surrounded by them and Seth had not. Although his family claimed the little space of nobility just before peasant—landed family of knights—there were a lot of family members, most of them girls. With nine girls, an unmarriageable aunt or two and a father with only one leg still attached, there'd been almost no money for anything so much as an errand boy. His mother, the esteemed Lady Flora of Palgo, had hemmed her own sheets all her life.

Emmie finished up quickly and picked up the handle of her little load basket. She curtseyed respectfully.

"Your Majesty, do I have permission to start up a fire in your chambers?" she asked of Ephraim. He thought for a moment.

"Yes, I think I'll try to get a decent night's sleep tonight," Ephraim said thoughtfully.

_You see, you ruddy little rodent, why can't you be a little more like that,_ his conscience growled murderously. _A well-rested force is a better-prepared force. Now, drop and give me twenty._

"And you, Princess Eirika?" Emmie asked, curtseying again. Eirika smiled.

"It's alright, Miss Emmie. I have Miss Clara to take care of my personal needs," Eirika dismissed her, gently. Emmie bobbled, but this time hesitated.

"Er, your Majesty . . . forgive me for being rude, but . . . is it true?" Emmie asked, fearfully. Eirika and Ephraim shared a worried glance. "Is there really an . . . an assassin on the prowl? That's all the girls will talk about and Miss Clara won't say a thing."

The twins of Renais heaved a collective, silent sigh. Wait, when had Seth's disappearance become a bigger issue than a murderer hell-bent on the Royalty's deaths? He wanted to hit them, at least Ephraim, and remind him who was running the country.

"It's true, Miss Emmie," Ephraim nodded. "I want you and the other kitchen maids to be on your highest guards."

"Yes, your Majesty!" Emmie squeaked. She turned to leave, and then paused. A funny expression passed briefly over her face. "L—Miss Linde is also wondering where the General's gone, because she's delivered meals three times today and each time she's found them uneaten. Did he have to suddenly go?"

"That's enough, Miss Emmie," Ephraim said shortly. She squeaked once more before slipping out the door with her peculiar nimbleness. He turned to Eirika, who glared at him disapprovingly. "What?"

"You could have been nicer," she admonished. "She's one of my girls."

"Right, sorry," Ephraim said. Eirika seemed to know automatically that her brother was being sincere. She gestured for him to continue. "Where was I?"

"Plans aside," Eirika said quickly.

"Ah, yes," Ephraim bit his lip.

"She'll understand if you tell her why," Eirika said, comfortingly.

"It's not her I'm worried about," Ephraim said, cracking his knuckles. "Begin, 'I can only appeal to your most patient nature, Holy Queen, and pray that you will accept pushing the date further, to the autumn equinox, an equally auspicious day. This emergency is of a personal nature and I will not . . .er . . ."

Seth listened as Eirika supplied words. The twins of Renais functioned like fine clockwork, rapidly producing a letter of state to one of the most difficult and powerful of foreign politicians. The Pontifex's arm extended through Rausten and out into foreign countries, as the head of the holy Church. The previous Pontifex, Emperor Mansel Octavius Athenius, had held a policy of "let them be," but L'Arachel and her boundless energy and fervent faith would not even dream of leaving all the lambs of her Church untended.

Natasha had once explained the hierarchy to him while valiantly trying to extract Bael poison from his arm _and_ set the bone so it would heal properly when she applied an elixir. While the pain had been incredibly distracting at the time, he still remembered fragments. L'Arachel's policies would mean constant contact with foreign Kings and politicians—a Prime Minister, in the case of Gradia, and the High Councilman in the case of Carcino—since basically, the Pontifex _commanded_ all clergy. Natasha may have been a Grad, and she may have sworn her allegiance to Emperor Vigarde, but if Pontifex Mansel had not instated the policies that he did, she and all other Grad clergy men and women would have had to face a choice between their loyalty to Grado and their loyalty to the Gods.

Obviously, L'Arachel was picking up the reigns Mansel had ignored. Seth could no longer ask Sister Natasha what she thought of the new Pontifex's policies, since she had been long gone, serving as a holy woman in Gradia, when Pontifex Mansel had been killed by an unknown assassin and L'Arachel rapidly crowned in his place. Uncomfortably similar to this situation, but were Ephraim to die, Eirika would face too much opposition to take control before chaos did.

_And the assassin wants her dead, too,_ reminded the monster.

You only know that on assumption, Seth shot back. He froze, realizing he'd just responded to one of his inner demons.

_A helpful inner demon_, it said brightly. He pointedly ignored it.

"And I'll sign it myself," Ephraim said, closing his letter.

"Oh, parsnips," Eirika said. She sounded surprised. Eirika never really swore, not even in when normal people, himself included, would be screaming out every oath they knew. "I almost wrote that down too. Here you go, Brother."

She turned the paper around so he could lean over and tack his Royal signature to the end, _King Ephraim Siegfried Renais II._ It looked oddly un-Kingly against Eirika's beautiful script, but not many people would be able to match her. The calligraphist herself reclined in her chair as Ephraim signed the letter, petting her cat.

"I don't know why I didn't get a cat sooner," Eirika commented. "I rather like it."

"He looks like a storm hit him," Ephraim remarked snidely. Eirika stuck out her tongue.

"He's lovely," she defended stubbornly, raising her chin. "And extremely clever."

"Has he pissed on any of your belongings yet?"

"No," Seth said irritably. A potted plant in the corner of her room begged to differ, but he'd never liked the ugly leafy things anyway.

Eirika playfully swatted at her brother's arm. "See, even he's offended."

"Alright, alright," Ephraim said, re-reading the letter critically. "I certainly hope she doesn't Purge me dead for this."

"All the way from Rausten?"

"She's a very powerful woman. Very forceful. I wouldn't be surprised."

"Heehee," Eirika giggled. Her voice darkened in tone, though, as she spoke further. Seth looked up at her face. Her mouth was set in a frown. "Brother, I can't just sit by and wait as a party of knights searches for _my_ future husband. I want to go. You know I can defend myself."

Guilt, guilt, guilt. His new favorite emotion. It bombarded Seth with renewed vigor.

I have got to get some sort of message out, before she goes ahead with this. There was danger both ways, but at least with her in the castle, he could look out for her.

"I know that," Ephraim shook his head. "But I need you here. What if he returns, suddenly? It would be more convenient if you were waiting here instead of trying to get a message to you, tracking him down in Gods-know-where. And _I _need you, Sister. I want to search too, but I can't."

Eirika sighed, conceding defeat, for now. "Alright, Brother, you win. I'll stay."

She stood up, tightening her hold around Seth so that he wouldn't fall out of her arms. Ephraim bent down and kissed her cheek goodnight. Eirika did the same, scowling.

"But if there's no word in three days, I'm going too," she threatened sternly. Ephraim tossed up his hands in exasperation.

"Fine, fine. Gods forbid me to deny my dear sister anything," he said. The King was being only half sarcastic.

Eirika crossed the room, and, wishing her brother one final good night, opened the door to leave. No one was waiting out there for her. She sighed, hefting her cat closer to her—a little too close, really—walked the short way from the Royal Study to her rooms.

"It's not fair, Silver," she mumbled as she walked, still frowning. "I get him back after eight months alone and then he vanishes. The Gods must hate me."

No one hates you, Eirika, Seth thought, leaning his head against her shoulder. Just me.

**..0..**

Miss Clara had been completely right. There was no way that Duchess Freya had been killed in her boudoir, even though someone had wrecked a vase of flowers and pushed over a chair to make it look that she had. A very clumsy move for someone as skilled as an assassin, to kill someone other than his target. Other than her affair, the Duchess had few faults and fewer enemies, being a confidante to the Princess and remarkably polite and kind-hearted to those around her.

_Creepy Clara knows her stuff, _the monster approved.

Seth gained a new appreciation for the guardsmen, too. Someone, probably Franz, had thought to have a chalk outline drawn across the floor where the body had been when the Duchess' corpse had been taken away for burial.

If the Duchess had been pulled from the garden her room, the assassin would need to be strong, and know the interior of the Castle very well to remain unseen. The window was too high up to be used, so the assassin would have need a key. Not very many trained killers bothered with lockpicking, once they'd signed away their lives as honest people.

This particular villain is very well-prepared, Seth realized. It was not a happy truth. If he hadn't known that Nolan had set double guards to patrolling the Royal wing, he wouldn't have let Eirika alone at all.

"So what do you think?" said Lune's arrow-tipped voice asked abruptly. Seth jumped, badly surprised.

"How . . . !" he said, looking up at the sage's ghost. She was sitting patiently on the table. The blue rectangle had gotten huge. Seth was beginning to suspect that she couldn't turn heels.

"I'm dead. I can go anywhere I like," Lune sniffed, as if he was a simpleton.

"Then why don't you halt this murderer yourself?" Seth challenged. The Tail whipped across the floor furiously.

"Don't you shake that tail at me, boy," Lune replied crossly. "I'm dead. Not omniscient. I don't know who it is."

This struck Seth as both ironic and silly at the same time. "And turning me into a cat will help you find out."

"Exactly. No one expects a housecat. Not even the Gods are that observant," Lune waved her hand upwards in the dark. Seth had found that his night vision, at least, had improved considerably. "Domesticated cats are relatively new, anyway, only a few thousand years of evolution. My studies prove that the Gods only make a thorough inventory every eon."

_Despite being totally bonkers, that does make some sense,_ the monster admitted. It certainly explained the total lack of divine intervention during the War of the Stones.

"Am I to understand that you turned me into a cat—"

"I could have turned you into a cow. Or a lizard," Lune said thoughtfully, fingering one such creature, dangling in her hair by a slender ribbon.

"No, being a cat is just fine," Seth said hurriedly. "I just have one question."

"Speak it," Lune replied, looking very superior from her perch on the table.

"How can you work magic when you're dead?"

"I'm a sage of near infinite wisdom and power," Lune said bluntly, as if that explained everything. "And Hermod owes me a favor."

It took Seth a moment to remember Hermod, the fleetest of the gods and husband to the lady of death, Proserpine. This was absolute lunacy. Years of half-hearted devotion and near total dismissal of divine beings must be finally catching up to him. It certainly explained a lot.

_The Gods have Their own ways of redirecting Their children,_ his inner Natasha remarked serenely. She made three.

"Of course," Seth said, resigning to the madness. He was a cat. It didn't get much more unlikely than that; who said a god didn't owe this woman a favor? It wasn't like any other explanations were forthcoming. "So why are you here now?"

"Because you're sniffing the wrong trail, obviously," Lune said. She set down her knitting and slipped off the table, kneeling next to him. On the Dasyanian carpet, she rapidly traced her finger through the fibers. They glowed where she touched them.

"Do you know that symbol, boy?" she asked. Seth tilted his head, waiting for the glimmering magic to dim long enough for him to look closely.

"It's a broadsword," he said, immediately recognizing the familiar contours of the weapon. Lune cuffed his head sharply.

"No! It's the sword of L'Arina, the Saint Latona's warrior sister," Lune said crossly, although her voice was deadening like it had before, when she'd turned him into a cat. "The theocracy of Rausten uses this symbol as their official seal. The real sword lies broken in their Royal Temple, and even the smallest fragment is imbued with incredible holy power."

So why are you telling me? Seth wondered, watching as the sword of L'Arina faded into the carpet again.

"That's all the help I can give you. Even some things are out of my reach," Lune said, her voice turning sharp again. "I do not often admit inability, but even I cannot divine why this is important."

"That was divination?"

"Yes."

_Quite random_, thought the monster. Inner Natasha and the drillmaster nodded their agreement.

"Well," the old woman said, briskly. "I'm leaving, then."

Seth thought of something, and then panicked. "Wait, no! I need your assistance!"

Lune looked at him strangely with one eye. She looked a little like one of the fish Franz caught every so often, only all dried up. Lune placed her hands on her hips. Somehow, she'd grabbed the blue knitting disaster without him noticing.

"I can't tell you anymore, boy," she said seriously, for once. "The future is constantly in motion. Sometimes it was I all could do to hold on a shard of it and predict things from there."

"I don't need you to do anything like that," Seth said, and then began to explain what favor he needed, exactly.

**..0..**

"EIRIKA!" Ephraim shouted, fully dressed, bursting into her rooms without any sort of announcement. As her twin brother, he had that right.

Seth, who had fallen asleep on the window seat—no amount of here, kitty, kitty-ing could coax him into Eirika's bed, there were just some things that would not happen until after the wedding, cat or not—was jolted awake and nearly fell off the cushion and onto the floor. His eyes snapped onto Ephraim, and then the crinkled paper in his hands. Seth relaxed.

"Eirika! Wake up!"

"Brother . . .?" the Princess replied, sleepily. The grey sky, dreary as it was, still allowed for light to pour through the window.

"Look!"

Seth heard the sound of paper being shoved into someone's face, an indignant sputter, and then anxious silence. Eirika must be reading.

"Thank the Gods! He's safe!"

"Oomf!"

Seth chuckled as he jumped down from the window seat and padded softly into Eirika's bedroom to see her joyfully embracing her brother on the floor. In her hand, she clutched a letter, written in Seth's very own short-handed chicken-scratch that Lune had been able to copy just from the shape of his hand. He didn't have to read it to know what had been written there; he'd dictated the whole thing, missing words and all.

_Eirika—Forgive sudden departure, pressing matters at home. Nothing serious, please don't worry. Infant niece born earlier than expected, had to rush. Am godfather. She is healthy and v. pretty, please send K. Ephraim my regrets, I know nothing can excuse this behavior. Plan to return in a week or so. Little sister insists on proper christening ceremony, nothing can change her mind once made. Again, send my regrets. I love you._

—_Seth _

While Lune hadn't been able to physically stop the runner the King had sent to Palgo, she had been able to replace the message he carried and muck about with his memory a bit.

_"If I just remove it," _she'd said primly. _"He'll make up everything else on his own. The human brain is remarkably good at rationalizing."_

The actual letter took some thought, however. He settled for "newborn niece" which was mostly true. Bethy was, in fact, having a baby, and even if it hadn't been born yet, no one in the Castle knew about it. As long as Elsie didn't come charging up, demanding where her brother was, Ephraim and Eirika would not worry quite so much. And Gods above, Alisabeth's baby was going to be a girl, no matter what anyone wished. Nine sisters, no nephews or maternal uncles or male cousins tended to mark a trend in the family line.

Eirika breathed another sigh of relief.

"I was so worried," she confessed, shaking her head. Gracefully picking herself up off the ground, Eirika re-read the letter twice over. "This does throw off your plans for L'Arachel anyway, though."

"No matter," Ephraim shrugged, getting to his feet as well. "In all his years serving the crown, he's never once asked me for a vacation."

No one wanted to name names, but everyone was thinking of Forde anyway.

"I feel he deserves this at least. And, it gives me more time to prepare myself mentally to meet with L'Arachel," the King said off-handedly, although Seth noticed a shadow of a shiver in his voice. "I have to go now, the Council will have my head if I'm late again."

"Good luck herding the masses, Brother," Eirika said sincerely. "Morning, Silver."

"Good morning, Eirika," he replied dutifully not watching as she slipped on a breezy-looking dressing gown over her thin nightclothes.

Ephraim took his leave, raising an eyebrow at the cat's behavior. Seth followed him out of the bedroom and across the pink and white carpet. Best to let Eirika be right now, he thought determinedly. Ephraim opened the door and then stopped dead. Seth looked past Ephraim's legs to see a pair of inky black boots and the hem of a sensible, knee-length, black dress and apron. It was like looking into an abyss.

_How does she keep herself so immaculate?_ the monster commented thoughtfully. _She _is_ creepy._

Miss Clara was very nearly Ephraim's height. She looked him dead in the eye before bowing, slowly and deeply.

"Good morning, your Majesty," she said. It was like a warning.

"Ah! Miss Clara," Eirika's voice chimed in. Just as well; Ephraim seemed to have lost his voice for fright. "Good morning. Brother, this is Miss Clara, my personal maidservant."

"Good morning, Princess," Miss Clara said, slipping effortlessly past Ephraim. He mumbled a greeting before slipping out. Now, when Seth looked up, he could see that she was carrying twin dishes.

When Miss Clara set them down in the corner, Seth realized how little he'd been eating lately. Hungrily, he darted for the bowl on the right—more kitchen scraps, but at least it wasn't entirely raw. Despite being altogether ravenous, he watched Miss Clara's back out the corner of his eye. Eirika emerged, dressed in an open white jacket and a short blue dress. She brushed her hair out from its sleeping braid with a normal brush.

Miss Clara was more of a haunting figure than Lune, with her dark coloring and clothing and severe personality. Eirika spoke of laundry and today's menus, along with a variety of other mundane topics. By the time all of the kitchen scraps were gone, they were talking about new candlesticks for formal dinners, since several had gone missing and another had simply broken in two.

"I don't believe it," Eirika said, amazedly scanning the pages of her finance book. "Ephraim doesn't set anything aside for decoration. That's so like him."

She scribbled something in. Eirika sat at the small table with the notebook propped on her lap as she wrote. Miss Clara was already in the other room, folding Eirika's own laundry to take down to the boiler room, in the basement of the castle. Right next to the dungeon, Seth thought instantly. We could use someone like her for interrogation.

"Shall I purchase on credit, milady?" Miss Clara asked, easily carrying a load of laundry that must have weighed tens of pounds.

"No, Clara, don't bother," Eirika shrugged. "I'll bring it up with Brother later."

Miss Clara bowed reverently. "Yes, milady. Will your Highness be taking breakfast in the Lesser Hall?"

"Mm, no, I don't think so. Have something brought up, alright, Clara? I need to work on something," Eirika smiled. Her mood seemed lighter, now that she supposedly knew where Seth had run off to. She patted 'Staff & Finances,' which, oddly enough, she was not writing in. Weren't new candlesticks . . . well, financial? "Although I do want to take a bath tonight. Can you arrange that?"

"Yes, milady," Miss Clara said obediently. She exited as quickly as she had come. Seth could hear the click of her heels on the floor outside Eirika's room.

Once she was gone, Eirika picked up 'Staff & Finances,' utterly ignoring the notebook she'd been recording costs and salaries in. Seth had a strange feeling that 'Staff & Finances,' had very little to do with staff and finances. Without needing invitation, Seth followed her to the window seat and jumped up next to her. Feeling nosy and intrusive, he used her arm as a boost and watched as she opened the notebook.

"Oh, are you curious, Silver?" Eirika asked. Her voice was slightly conspiratorial in tone. "It's the last chapter of my newest novel."

_And now for something completely different,_ the monster said dryly.

"But shh," she said, putting a finger to her lips. "Don't tell Brother."

Whatever Seth had been expecting, it had not been a storybook. Eirika giggled a little, reminding him very much of a young schoolgirl. She bit her lip, thinking. When had she taken up writing novels as a hobby? And when had she taken to gossip? He needed to spend more time with her, and not as a cat.

"Or Seth. He'd put a stop to this in an instant," Eirika sighed, rolling her eyes and scratching his ears. She's right, he thought uncomfortably. I would. Why was it that Eirika could read him so well when so much about her surprised him? "I'm so glad he's safe. Although he has a lot of things to explain. Like Johnny. And that."

She pointed to his sword, propped up against the hearth.

I'm going to have to tell her the truth, Seth decided. After all this is over. Lune, cat, the horses, everything. We'll see if she wants to marry me once she thinks I'm insane.

_Don't talk like that_, the inner Natasha admonished.

"But . . . it really helps," Eirika said, out of the blue. She stared out her window, tracing the horizon with the edge of her pen. "It does. Just to escape for a little bit, in a little fantasy world where everything ends happily. And it _sells_, too, Silver! Franz takes my manuscripts down to Marconisis & Co. Printing Presses and they stamp it up, just like that. Brother's pleased with those presses."

She turned to face him and grinned, excitedly. "I have a sum all my own set away."

Remarkable woman, Seth thought to himself. Princess, warrior, novelist. Somehow, her little hobby didn't seem as completely trivial.

"Fiction is so rare anyway," she mumbled, settling in to actually write. "Even Lute says so."

Eirika's handwriting didn't diminish in quality just because she wrote stories instead of state documents. Since he'd only caught the end of her novel, he had no idea what all the characters were talking about or what was going on. The last story Seth had ever heard—he never read for pleasure, since he never had the time—had been from the mouth of his mother, and it had been extremely simplistic, a story with a purpose; to scare nine-year-old boys into pouring all their efforts into their studies.

The watermelon baby's gruesome antics had nothing on this. Mum had been inventive, not creative, even if he still eyed the space underneath the bed with some suspicion. Eirika did not notice as her cat attentively read every word she wrote down. It didn't take long to pick up on some things, like the lovers and the hero and the defeated king of evil. Often mentioned was the good king's magic ring, even if Seth didn't know what significance it held. Only Eirika and the Gods knew what elves were.

Suddenly, mid-sentence, Eirika stopped writing and snapped the book shut. Setting it aside, she lifted Seth up and stood straight.

"Time for a surprise inspection," she said, mischievously.

_Someone's in trouble, _the monster snickered.

_That's cruel,_ said inner Natasha. He could actually see her fret in his mind's eye.

Shush, you two.

**..0..**

Seth followed Eirika's heels obediently. Surprise inspections usually meant a scramble, a dash to at least look like you were doing what you were supposed to be doing all along. The halls of the kitchen pounded with an oppressive heat that no one seemed to be noticing, not even Eirika. She put her hands behind her back, pacing before the line of girls.

Before ordering them to line up, Eirika took time to watch them at work, tracing the aisles made of kitchen tables. Everywhere, he smelled food and blood and boiling water. The scullery girls here wore dingy brown instead of blue and their aprons were stained beyond cleansing. Looking up, Seth saw that they all wore their hair in a tight bun, decorated variously with glass beads and ribbons. He listened as Eirika pointed out things that were wrong—understocked on salt, overstocked on garlic, a bucket was missing in the corner where they kept the drained blood, where had it gone? How she remembered every detail had been utterly beyond him. Now, each and every one of them stood at attention, hands at their sides and staring diligently at the wall.

"Is this the entirety of the third tier?" she asked Cookie, expecting the answer already.

Third-tier usually meant girls that worked exclusively in the kitchen. Second-tier did things like Emmie—a lot of fire-tending, water-fetching and waiting, but at least she was out of this hellhole. Top-tier was Miss Clara—personal attendants and overseers to other girls. Fourth-tier was everything else.

"Yes, milady," Cookie said, drawing himself up to look more noble.

"I see. You, miss, what's your name?" she pointed to a nervous girl with seagreen hair and bitten off nails.

"Rosay," she stuttered, hiding her hands behind her back. Maybe Seth had been dulled to the thrill of meeting with the Princess or King; constantly working under them did that, after a time.

Eirika nodded, crossing her arms. Rosay quailed. "Miss Rosay, then. Master Archibald, does Miss Rosay have very good balance?"

Seth glanced out the corner of his eye to see Cookie. Obviously, Cookie wasn't his name, but Archibald sounded even worse.

"I've never seen her drop anything, milady," Cookie said.

"Mm. Five days ago, one of the second-tier girls handed in her resignation. As we need a replacement, I have decided to promote Miss Rosay to the job," Eirika said. It must have been his imagination, but Seth thought he saw a wink.

Some girls frowned, but the ones around Rosay smiled happily and squeezed her hands, congratulating her on her good fortune.

"We'll have to speak to Miss Clara about your new dress and apron," Eirika instructed. "Come with me. Everyone else, back to your duties."

Cookie—Seth found it difficult to think of him as Master Archibald—clapped his hands briskly and yelled the same, given the chance to do so. The train of girls poured back into the wide open threshold and back to their varied jobs. Rosay smiled weakly at him, thinking he was an ordinary cat. Eirika gestured for Rosay to follow.

Once out of the heat, Eirika smiled encouragingly to Rosay, who was jittering badly.

"Don't be so nervous, it's your steady hands that got you promoted," she joked, trying to soothe the new second-tier girl. "I've been watching you. You're the first to pick up an accident and you do it quickly enough that some people don't even notice. Those are good traits for a higher-tiered girl. It would be a shame to waste you, Miss Rosay, in the kitchen."

Rosay sucked in a breath, probably wondering if she deserved that praise. She forced her hands to stop shaking, to show Eirika what steady hands she had. This was the phase when you couldn't believe

"Yes, milady," Rosay said, bobbing her head. "I mean, thank you, milady."

"Heehee," Eirika grinned. "Come now. You've got to stay calm, alright?"

Heavy footfalls, at least two, beat down the hall. Seth turned in their direction, to see Janna, huffing wildly. Her moss green hair stuck out wildly in all directions.

"Milady, you must come quick," Janna panted, doubling over to wheeze. "We found—oh, ye Gods, we found blood!"

Rosay squeaked. Eirika took her hand immediately, to calm her.

"Miss Rosay, please come with me," Eirika ordered. "This Castle is no longer safe to be on your own. Miss Janna, take me to this crime, at once."

"Yes, milady!" Janna said.

Princesses almost never run, save for when they're charging at carnivorous eyeballs or savage brigands. In this case, Eirika and the two maidservants hastily walked, something Seth, on his cat legs, was infinitely grateful for. The route, he noticed, led into the Royal wing. He could only pray that it was not Ephraim's blood or body they would find.

Seth skidded to a halt as they turned into a familiar corridor. Blood dripped into the crevices in the floor and soaked the carpet. A crowd had already gathered as Princess Eirika approached, aghast. Emmie was one of them, looking like she'd cry herself. A brown haired girl comforted at younger girl with a splotchy face and tears streaming down.

"Milady," the brunette said. "Bessie was the one to find it, milady. She was on her way to Lord Hassal's rooms to clean up, and she found it. She was screaming, milady."

Bessie croaked an affirmation and buried her face into the brunette's shoulder. On the edges of the crowd he could see that lords, ladies and servants all circled the door. Eirika stared at it. Marked in crimson on the wood, was a broadsword slashed in an X. The sword of L'Arina, Seth remembered. Lune had foreseen this event, then. Ephraim pushed his way through—Seth released his breath, not realizing that he'd been holding it.

"It can't be," he murmured. The crowd shifted, frightened for their very lives, nobles and commoners alike.

_Someone's claiming responsibility, _the monster said grimly. _Our assassin has lost his element of surprise, so he's decided to adapt. Turning his mistake into a fear tactic._

A black figure appeared at the edge of the gathered people, peering at the scene and then backing away. Seth almost didn't see her. Miss Clara's face remained as impassive as ever, but her hands clenched around the silver charm of her necklace.

Or her mistake, Seth replied darkly. Miss Clara disappeared from sight and Seth took off to follow her.

**..0..**

**This chapter is dedicated to my dear friends Veronica and Sarina, who are so thin they don't need corsets but wear them anyway. **


	3. PUNKED

"Oh, Silver! No!"

Seth felt a slim, deft hand reach out with spectacular swiftness and snatch him by the neck, lifting him up a few feet. His first instinct was to fight back. He had claws now, whereas his attacker only had a set of closely trimmed fingernails.

_Stop!_ commanded the inner Natasha. Her delicate features would have been contorted into a rare scowl, had she not existed solely in his mind at this point in time. She may have even hit him, again. Seth had not known that clerics were trained to subdue the more energetic of the wounded. Not many people did.

"Bad," Eirika chastised, slapping his ears sharply. "Bad cat."

Seth griped, relaxing his tensed muscles as Miss Clara got away. Damn!

Eirika heaved a breath; he could feel the air against his ears. She cradled him closely, staring uneasily at the door.

"Sister, I think you should go back to your room," Ephraim advised softly. Eirika nodded and excused herself. Seth waited for her to release her hold on him, but she did not. Instead, she carried him all the way back, stroking his neck rhythmically.

Eirika seemed highly unnerved, Seth thought, nervous himself. He couldn't shake a sense of impending disaster; he should have been faster, he should have fought harder, _he should have still been a man._

The Princess closed the door to her chambers behind her before setting Seth down, effectively trapping him. She sighed mysteriously, and ran her fingers through her long teal hair, pacing back and forth.

"Silver, who could have done such a thing?" Eirika uttered, truly grieved. She turned to glance at Seth's sword, propped up against the wall. "The sword of L'Arina is ho—"

Seth saw him first, swathed in black, a mere shape of indefinite gender. He yowled a warning, but as Eirika whipped around to face her enemy, he became her killer. The double knives slashed across her ribcage and her neck, lightning quick. The assassin sidestepped the pressured blood as it escaped violently from her veins. Enraged and horrified, Seth forgot his circumstance and charged at the black shape and leapt, clawing at his body and up to his face.

"Damn cat!" the assassin hissed, shooting out a hand to grab Seth by the neck to pry him off his mask. The cloth fell free and if he had not been blinded by fury, Seth would have recognized the countenance. The assassin put another hand on his head and broke Seth's neck, tossing him harmlessly on the floor. Lune stood silent in the corner, arms at her sides. The figure in black passed her by, unseeing, to strike the King unawares . . .

**..0..**

Eirika shot straight up in her bed, gasping for breath. Beside her, her husband stirred, blinking awake. She held her hand to her breast, frantically recovering her breath.

"Eirika . . .?" Seth mumbled, momentarily disoriented. He rolled over to face her, concerned. "Are you alright . . .?"

"Oh, I had the most vivid dream—you were a cat and there was a killer and you were trying to stop him and you were going insane and there was this witch and we were both murdered in cold blood and Ephraim was next and—"

"Hush, hush," Seth cut her off, sitting up to comfort her. He cupped her face in one hand and stroked her hair with the other, like a child. "It's alright, it was just a nightmare. It's alright. I'm here."

Eirika took a deep breath and nodded in the dark, settling down. Her heart beat slower and softer. Seth leaned closer and kissed her brow.

"I'm here," he repeated, pulling her back down onto the pillow. "Not a cat. Not dead. Hopefully not insane. Hush."

Eirika rested her head against his chest, drawing closer. Of course, just a dream. No cat, no witch, no killer. But . . . something tugged at the corner of her mind, relentlessly.

"Seth?"

"Yes?"

"Wouldn't that make a great story?"

". . . Eirika."

"Right, right, I know. Hush."

"Good night, Eirika. I love you."

**END**

**..0..**

**. . . no, not really. **

**I just like messing with you. However, now seems an opportune time to say: reviewing in this story, asking for an update is fine. That's flattering. Threatening me unless I update is not. And trashing my other stories in order to get me to update is downright insulting. So don't do that, I beg of you. I am a very busy lady and a disagreeable bitch at heart. Writing this is supposed to be a relaxing break for me, not a hassle. **

**Thank you.**


	4. Real Vegetarian Courses

_**The Many Adventures of Silver the Cat**_

_Written by Lady Erina of Renais Court, retyped for your pleasure by Meelu the Bold_

**The (real) Third Chapter:**

"**Vegetarian Courses for Special Visitors," or,**

"**Silver the Cat Uncovers the Obvious."**

"Oh, Silver! No!"

Seth felt a slim, deft hand reach out with spectacular swiftness and snatch him by the neck, lifting him up a few feet. His first instinct was to fight back. He had claws now, whereas his attacker only had a set of closely trimmed fingernails.

_Stop!_ commanded the inner Natasha. Her delicate features would have been contorted into a rare scowl, had she not existed solely in his mind at this point in time. She may have even hit him, again. Seth had not known that clerics were trained to subdue the more energetic of the wounded. Not many people did.

"Bad," Eirika chastised, slapping his ears sharply. "Bad cat."

Besides, all five hells would freeze over and crack before he scratched a bit of Eirika. His ears rang deafeningly, but he gritted his teeth and took it like . . . well, a cat. The Tail whipped, mirroring his displeasure.

"No, she's—Eirika, let me _go_!" Seth pleaded, eyes fixed on the point where Miss Clara _had _been. Eirika did the opposite and held him tighter. His ears flattened to his head and before he knew it, he was hissing.

"No," Eirika said, striking him once more across the ears. "Don't. There's blood there!"

There was blood everywhere around the door, and it pooled directly beneath the painted sword of L'Arina. Seth ceased to complain, although walking though a little bit of blood wouldn't have fazed him in the slightest. Would Eirika know what the marking signified? Ephraim stepped closer, horrified. That was a silly question. Of course. As a personal sort-of secretary to the King and a close friend of the Pontifex's besides that, Eirika would be familiar with that emblem, as well as dozens of others.

"Eirika, do you think . . .?" he said, catching her eye. She bit her lip, glancing back at the gruesome message.

_Just whose blood is that?_ the monster shifted uncomfortably. Inner Natasha gulped and gripped her rosary. Seth narrowed his eyes, ignoring the fact that he could picture the three of them, individually, in a corner of his mind.

Eirika sucked in a breath and switched to command mode. "I want the guardsmen to make note of this! Someone fetch Nolan and then get this cleaned up! Obviously, we are being frightened. Brother, I would suggest some measures to be taken now that our murderer is brazen enough to announce himself."

"Yes, of course, milady," a maid said hurriedly. It was Janna.

"Wait," Eirika commanded. Seth looked up at her. No matter how many times he had to tilt his head to even see part of her face, he would never get used to it. Being small grated his nerves like nothing else. "I don't want anyone to go anywhere alone. Take Miss Emmie with you. Our murderer has not shown any preferences to targets."

Janna nodded and Emmie took her arm, nervously eyeing the late Duchess' door. A murmur ran through the crowd, a mixed bag of nobility and servants, with one or two pages and a knight thrown in for good measure. A worried expression crossed the King's face and everyone followed suit.

Eirika clapped. "Go on! Back to your duties . . . spread the word. Miss Rosay, take Miss Gwendolyn and Miss Bessie and alert Miss Clara that she has level three emergency powers. I want all the maidservants of every tier assembled in the kitchen and paired off into buddies. I want no girl alone."

"And that goes for council members and nobility, too," Ephraim spoke up, unwilling to let Eirika take over completely. "No one is to be alone. You all have a pageboy or something, right? Where is Sir Nolan?"

The panic of the situation set in, and, like human beings, everyone began to talk at once. Eirika gripped Seth's fur tightly as Ephraim half-leapt over the bloodstains to stand by her side. He placed a hand on her shoulder, glancing over his shoulder.

"Sister, do you . . .?" Ephraim trailed off. He needn't finish for her to understand, Seth thought. I wish that Alisabeth and I were that close.

_You always know _exactly_ what name she'll call you next,_ the monster offered helpfully. _That's got to mean something._

"Yes, it's the very same. I—I wonder, though, why a killer would choose Rausten's sword as their insignia—" Eirika cut herself off, seeing Ephraim's distraught face.

"Pontifex Mansel," Ephraim whispered. Eirika raised an eyebrow, confused. Seth shared her opinion.

A heavy voice called across the hall, followed by heavier footfalls and then a cloud of smaller ones. All heads turned and Ephraim's explanation would have to wait. Emmie and Janna had returned with Sir Nolan, a black haired, blue armored man with lines deeply etched into his serious face. The sword at his side carried two bands of rank. Franz and Amelia trailed after him, bearing a sword and a lance, respectively.

"Your Majesty," Nolan bowed. Ephraim faced him.

"Nolan," Ephraim said, grimly. "We've got quite a bit of planning to do."

Franz and Amelia took it upon themselves to clear out the bystanders, skillfully appointing them to groups by rank. Seth watched as they worked, only half-listening to Ephraim and Nolan plot out the best path of action, rooting out the murderer, questioning possible witnesses, tightening security, etc. Nolan was a reliable man to have in times of crisis, Seth noted, committing the fact to memory. If only he hadn't been wasted in the north when the Grads had attacked . . . Amelia, too, had definitely been a sound addition to the knights of Renais based in the Castle. It was too bad his friend Cormag had not decided to swear his loyalty to the Knights of Renais, although he did own a woodworking shop in a village just a few miles south of Palgo. Seth had even lent him a little money to get started.

But watching Amelia function so perfectly with Franz . . . just how many hours were spent becoming so fine-tuned? Another mystery to look into. Ephraim entrusted further investigation to Nolan, and instructed him to raise alerts amongst the guardsmen and knights stationed in the castle. When the subject of Seth came up, Ephraim shrugged.

"Don't worry," the King assured Sir Nolan with an emphatic nod. "The General has sent word and I'm more than certain that he'll be more than happy to explain one or two errors of judgment on his part."

Why he would abandon his horse, why he suddenly shed himself of clothing and weaponry in the middle of a public road, why he couldn't tell anyone about this sooner . . . the list went on and on. Seth cringed. Eirika may deserve the truth, but if he was going to keep his job, he would need to come up with a more suitable explanation than, "Er, I was turned into a cat." At least the King seemed to be on his side with this, which was nice.

_Or you could go into carpentry,_ the monster suggested cheerily_. You've always been very good at hitting things. I'm sure Cormag would be happy to take you on._

For the love of the Gods, just shut up, Seth shot back angrily.

**_Don't take the name of the Gods in vain_, **inner Natasha warned sternly. Seth could feel both the monster and the drillmaster slowly inch away. This particular demon seemed to be more like brutal, violent Natasha.

Eirika's hand on his neck brought him back to reality. She scratched his ears absently, and he leaned into it, despite both himself and the current situation. Ephraim heaved a sigh, looked into his sister's eyes and set his jaw.

"Come with me."

Eirika took her brother's hand, cradling Seth with only one arm. Seth had to crane his head all the way around to see where they were headed, the downside of being held up the comfortable way, with his paws resting on her shoulder. From the looks of it, Ephraim was leading them further into the Royal wing, towards the study. Ah, the study. The minute he had hands again, after arresting the villain currently running loose, he would rope Forde, Kyle _and_ Franz, maybe even Amelia, and they would clean out the monstrous mess festering in Ephraim's workspace. It couldn't be healthy.

"Brother, why would they . . . ? Rausten is no enemy . . ." Eirika trailed off unhappily. Ephraim nodded sharply, swallowing hard as he unlocked the door and flinging it open.

He darted to a bookshelf, leaving Eirika to enter alone. She set Seth down on the ground and closed the door behind her, peering at her brother questioningly.

"Brother?" she asked.

Ephraim pulled down three or four books before finding the one he was looking for, a thick maroon volume. Marching to his desk, he swept all the paperwork away with his arm and cracked the tome open. Working up his courage, Seth took a running start and, amazingly enough, leapt up onto the high desk. At last, some of that catlike grace was coming to him! Ephraim ignored him, and Eirika frowned, but made no move to sweep him away too. Inside the book, stuffed between the pages, were dozens of folded papers.

The King flipped to the earlier pages and began unfolding them, looking for something in particular. When the sheet was not what he was seeking, Ephraim tossed it to the side. Seth peeked onto one half-unfolded page; he did not recognize the looping handwriting inside. All of the papers smelled like old, expensive perfume.

"Here," Ephraim said finally. He handed a paper to Eirika, who accepted it hesitantly. She swallowed, and, thankfully, began reading it aloud.

"Dearest Ephraim," Eirika read slowly. Her brother began pacing nervously. Seth could sense that this was a very big secret Ephraim had been hiding for sometime now. Secrets and intrigue seemed to pop out of the woodwork now that he was the innocent, uncomprehending cat and not the General. "A most sorrowful tragedy has occurred, as you have no doubt already received word of through my official messengers. I cannot tell you of how mournfully distraught I am, for no words for my great pain have been conceived of yet. Only now I have contrived to pen this letter, the one small comfort I have been granted in the last fortnight, and even doing so grieves me, for all I can imagine now is standing in your strong arms . . . Ephraim, what's this?"

Ephraim threw up his arms and spun on his heel, pacing swiftly. Seth kept his eyes on Ephraim's face, watching his expressions. "Just keep reading."

"Ah . . ." Eirika murmured, reading silently now. Seth wished he could see over her shoulder again. The Princess wasn't even that tall! He could—and had—pick her up and sling her over his shoulder and then _run._ Being this small was ridiculous. Her eyebrows rose in alarm. "This . . . this is from L'Arachel!"

"Keep reading," Ephraim urged. Eirika nodded.

"Uncle's death is a stinging, twisting blow that has left me most hungry for vengeance. My love, if only you were here to see such contemptuous cowardice," Eirika continued, probably not from where she left off. She's talking about the late Pontifex, Seth thought to himself. He froze upon hearing the words 'my love,' and snapped his gaze onto a very flustered Ephraim. "The foul assassin that took my Uncle's life used the very same symbol of our great theocracy, desecrated with a gruesome slash—marked in his blood upon the wall. Upon beholding this picture of revulsion . . . oh, Brother . . . you don't mean to say that . . ."

Ephraim ran a hand through his hair and nodded weakly. Eirika's eyes widened. A connection between the death of Duchess Dasyan and Pontifex Mansel only complicated matters. Clearly, the targets were the twins of Renais themselves. The assassin of royalty was unlikely to stoop so low as petty dukes and duchesses on purpose.

_They're not the only twins in Renais,_ the monster corrected off-handedly. Seth disregarded it, but briefly, a mental picture of Kathleen and Colleen, two more of his seemingly infinite sisters, appeared behind his eyes. Twins, exactly identical redheaded girls, born shortly after Seth left for Renais City for the first time, all of which meant _they_ got into more trouble than the King and his sister ever dreamt of. The two of them wrote him a letter a month, usually asking for money. There was a whole unopened stack waiting in his room, amongst many other things he'd been neglecting. Perhaps he was being hypocritical in his assessment of Ephraim's study.

"There's more," Ephraim said gravely, flipping through the pages to find more letters. "Ara and I—"

"You call her Ara?" Eirika interjected quickly. Ephraim ignored her briefly.

"We've been corresponding for the last year now," he explained, biting his lip, and reddening, slightly. "I . . . er . . . Ara's just easier to write, I suppose . . ."

Eirika folded her arms crossly. "You thought you could keep this a secret? From me?"

Ephraim looked at her desperately, sinking his shoulders hopelessly. His sister shook her head knowingly and rounded the desk between them to take his hands. She leaned in close to embrace him.

"You can't hide anything from me, Ephraim. I'm your sister. Your _older_ sister," Eirika said reassuringly. "And L'Arachel is my friend, too. She confides in me, you know, although . . ."

"By four minutes," Ephraim argued half-heartedly, putting a hand on her hair and holding her close as well. Seth stared politely at the book all the letters were tucked away in. _Kinge Siegfried: The Biograffie,_ by Sir Wilhelm of Gir'andhan. Seth remembered reading it as a part of his mother's dame school curriculum. It was dry as dust, but eventually he did learn to read. But, ye Gods, the endless mandatory mundane reports he had to write at the end of the year were far more interesting than Sir Wilhelm's bloody Biograffie. "Ara—L'Arachel told you about . . . y'know, me and her . . . ?"

Eirika leaned back and favored her brother with a rare, self-satisfied smirk. "I told you. You _can't_ hide _anything_ from me, dearest Ephraim."

The color drained from the King's face. "You . . . mean . . . you know about the, uh . . ."

"Relax," Eirika sighed, her demeanor becoming less and less playful as she broke away and turned to reexamine the letter. "'Ara' hinted at a secret lover for months now in all of her letters. I just didn't think it would be you . . . And I didn't know about this symbol. What does it mean, brother?"

Behind his sister's back, beyond her notice, Ephraim's shoulders loosened noticeably. He heaved a silent sigh, witnessed only by Seth, who attempted to raise an eyebrow.

"And, before I let you off the hook, yes, I do know about the Pegasus knight with the rope in the stable."

Ephraim immediately went rigid, eyes as wide as a pair of Mogalls facing down an Aura spell and a vicious Bishop. Seth almost choked. What happened, exactly, behind his back? On second thought, he preferred not to know. He glanced back at Eirika, who showed no signs of smug superiority as Bethy would, had she known some embarrassing secret about _her_ brother. She waved the letter in the air, trying to get them back on track.

"Right, the symbol," Ephraim bit his lip. "I ordered some discreet investigations from some more . . . private enterprises."

Eirika raised an eyebrow. Seth mentally praised her for her thoughtfulness, since he could not.

"Er . . . my spies," Ephraim said, uncomfortably. Eirika frowned but did not comment. "They call themselves the Blade of Rausten. Not my spies, the . . . the assassins. They've been harassing the Raus royalty for years, but it seems they've ceased their activity there and moved on to Renais."

"Why?" Eirika and Seth asked at the same time. Eirika put on a small smile and stroked her cat's neck.

"They aren't like the other underground groups in Rausten," Ephraim sighed, turning his back to approach the hearth. He stared into the cold, empty pit, unused during the day and Seth couldn't help but wonder if he was hiding something. Eirika joined him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "They're . . . unscrupulous. And they've been known to take jobs from other organizations that are . . . dangerous or cruel or downright insane. The Black Owl is notorious for it."

"The Black Owl?" Eirika raised an eyebrow.

"The Blade's leader," Ephraim rubbed his chin. "We've received so much conflicting information about him that we don't know if he's a man or a woman. He's a skilled assassin, we're sure of that, and it was by his hand that Pontifex Mansel died."

Seth sighed, examining the biography idly. The King and his sister were being hunted by a set of maniac, royalty-hating lunatics with no apparent motives and he was also a cat. An ugly cat. He batted aimlessly at the pages with a thumbless paw, opening to the most recent addition. It was only a narrow scrap of parchment, unadorned. In what he now knew was the Pontifex's swirling font, were two words: _**I accept!** _

"Silver! Don't disturb Brother's clandestine love letters," Eirika scolded, prying him away from the enigmatic note. She turned around to face Ephraim just in time to see him flush red.

"They are _not_ clandestine," he argued fruitlessly.

"You don't even know what that means," Eirika accused, scratching 'Silver's' neck affectionately.

_I accept what?_

The door flew open, revealing a panting pageboy. He rushed inside, kneeling apologetically to the King. Seth looked on the poor boy with the usual mixture of pity, nostalgia and unforgiving harshness.

"Your Majesty! Princess Tana of Frelia has just landed in the courtyard!"

"What?" Ephraim asked, gaping.

"In the courtyard, your Majesty, very nearly on top of Sir For—"

"I heard that part! _Why?_"

The page stood up nervously, bouncing on his toes. Seth swore inwardly.

_Oh!_ Inner Natasha exclaimed, horribly scandalized. The drillmaster conscience, who'd remained quiet so far, chose now to speak up.

_I'm going to give you such a whooping,_ he promised darkly. _Cussing in front of ladies . . ._

"She's not _real_," Seth argued futilely.

"Quiet, Silver," Eirika murmured, rushing after her brother, leaving the door to the study wide open.

**..0..**

Tana's Achaeus was a magnificent creature, with clean, sharp wings and a white coat that defied all the horse sense in the world. As the Princess herself would be quick to remind anyone, though, Pegasi were not horses, but creatures of more mythic and magical background than, "well, Buck, we caught this one poking about the primordial hay, let's give domestication a go around."

The Princess herself was a ratty, disheveled mess. Eirika nearly flew to her dear friend's side and immediately cried aloud, "Tana! What in the name of the Gods has possessed you now—?"

She appeared to be covered in green, sticky blood and now it was on Seth's fur. He recognized it as revenant goo. Once splattered with it, one tended not to forget the horrid stink that accompanied it. The Frelian princess's clothing was thoroughly tattered and she wasn't wearing her customary gold jewelry. In fact, Seth didn't see any sort of royal emblem upon her, which struck him as odd. She was both a Princess and a knight of the realm, with meant that the Frelian Emblem should be etched or painted or sewn on _somewhere_.

"Ran into a revenant nest above Tricta," Tana explained, naming a border town shared by Renais and Frelia. "I took a detour and helped some mercenaries rout them. My name there was Turner and—"

"Tana!" Eirika repeated furiously. Seth glanced up to see the color rise in her cheeks. Righteous indignation was a specialty of hers, second only to the Pontifex L'Arachel.

"Tana!" King Ephraim echoed, more bewildered than angry.

"Your Majesty," Tana replied briskly, curtsying as was appropriate. Thank the Gods for some sort of preservation of the status quo.

"Tana, what are you doing here?" Ephraim demanded. Any head that was not already focused on the center of the courtyard where Tana had landed turned at that moment.

"Ephy, I need place to lie low for a while," Tana hissed, pulling the twins (and Seth) closer in. About ten Miss What's-Her-Name kitchen girls suddenly had chores to do on the other side of the yard and sidled closer to hear. "'Turner' got too popular."

Ephraim drew back, slightly stunned. Not even Eirika used Ephraim's old nickname anymore. The King's sister answered for him.

"Of course! Stay as long as you need, you can borrow some things from my wardrobe," Eirika said. She reached out and put a hand on Tana's ooze covered shoulder plate, unflinchingly. Her hand drifted down to clasp Tana's and pulled her inward. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then you'll fill me in on the details. Brother! See to Achaeus!"

"What? Why me?" Ephraim asked, uncharacteristically dumbfounded. Eirika did not reply, favoring Tana over her brother.

She pulled the other Princess through the arched doorway leading to the Great Hall's protective antechamber, reconstructed at long last.

"You couldn't have come at a worse time," Eirika griped. "We've an assassin in the halls."

"I didn't know," Tana muttered in her defense. She picked off bits of a dried patch on her thick battle skirt. "Actually, I came to see your husband."

Eirika scowled. "We're not married yet."

"What?"

Tana stopped dead on the checker-tile floor of the side corridor, arms akimbo. Seth cringed, recovering from the jostling of being carried in only one arm.

"He's been very busy," Eirika said. The excuse sounded weaker and weaker each time he heard it repeated, despite the fact that it was the truth. Tana snorted unbecomingly.

"Hmph," Tana said darkly, crossing her arms. She looked murderous. "He's an idiot, then, and now I need to beat him. But first we must talk. Where is the numbskull?"

That was uncalled for, Seth thought sullenly.

Eirika walked onwards, sighing loudly. "He's not here. He's with his sister and her family."

_And the rest of them, too,_ the monster finished for her.

Tana caught up with her friend, nearly sputtering. "What? Why isn't he here?"

"Christening ceremony for his niece," Eirika explained tiredly. "Although . . ."

"Although what?"

"Nothing," Eirika said, nuzzling her 'cat's' ears.

They passed a pair of chatting knights, who bowed respectfully as the two Princesses crossed into the upper wings of nobility.

"Can't you take me to him?" Tana pleaded.

"No! I can't leave my brother at a time like this, Tana," Eirika said, sternly. "There is an _assassin_ in the halls, Tana, and he's already killed my friend Freya. There is sufficient proof that it is my brother and I that the assassin means to kill."

"Of course, I'm sorry," Tana amended, putting a hand to her temples. Her eyes narrowed. "Why isn't General Seth here, then? Isn't his job to protect you?"

"His job is to command the military," Eirika defended. "Protecting me is extra. Besides, I have Silver. Get the door."

She held up Seth for Tana to see. Tana grinned and scratched 'Silver's' ears before reaching for the doorknob of Eirika's rooms to let them in.

"He's been through a war, has he?" Tana joked. She closed the door behind them.

"Looks like it," Eirika confessed, setting him down on the carpet. She pulled strands of red fur from her clothes. "Or as Brother says, through a hurricane. A kitchen girl found him, but she couldn't keep him."

Tana laughed, collapsing in a chair. "That's sweet of you, Eiri."

Seth had never once in his life heard anyone call the Princess of Renais "Eiri," not even her brother Ephraim. Tana transcended rules of propriety effortlessly and no one ever seemed to care. It had taken many letters with crossed-out titles before Seth even began to _think_ of not using the word "Princess" to address his bride-to-be.

Eirika sat across from Tana, leaning forward onto her palms, her lips pursed in a thoughtful expression.

"Why do you need to see him?" Eirika asked, finally. Seth planned to pay special attention to the answer. This _was_ a form of eavesdropping, yes, but it concerned _him_.

_The road to the fourth Hell is paved with justifications,_ said inner Natasha sternly.

_Amen to that, Sister!_ cheered a new, flamboyantly cheerful voice. Seth froze. _What are _you_ thinking at, sugar?_

I'm going to ignore them, Seth decided. I am _not_ hearing things. I am perfectly sane. This is _not_ a sign of things to come.

_Yeah, sugar, just keep telling yourself that._

"I'm in love with him, Eiri! I can't get him out of my head!"

_What?_ all of the voices in Seth's head chorused. Somewhere between deciding to pay attention and his inner dialogue, Seth had lost track of the conversation outside of his head.

"Alright, alright. I understand, Tee," Eirika said, clasping Tana's hands between her own. "I know what it's like. I don't know if Seth knows anything about him, though."

"Nonsense, Cormag mentioned several times how he talked to the General about after the war," Tana insisted. Everything clicked and started making sense again.

If Seth had not been transformed, he would have had the dilemma of whether or not to tell Princess Tana ("Tee?" Where had _that_ come from? Did everyone have nicknames these days? And why didn't he know?) of his friend Cormag's whereabouts, who wanted nothing more to live his life in peace and incognito. Even if Eirika took her fellow Princess' side and royally ordered him to reveal Cormag . . .

Thanking Lune for the first time that she'd turned him into a cat, Seth heaved a sigh and shuttled the thought off to the side.

"Hm," Eirika said, casting her glance aside, suspiciously. "I think . . . I think we're going to have to do a little hunting. C'mon, let's find Miss Clara."

"Who's Miss Clara?" Tana asked, standing up.

"My head maid," Eirika shrugged, following suit. Incurably curious (and a smidge concerned for his own privacy) Seth followed them out the door. He could now quite skillfully dodge the feet of both women and not run into walls. After one regrettable mistake, Seth decided to keep his eyes focused solely on the heels of Eirika's shoes. Both Princesses preferred very short skirts worn in the Pegasus knight fashion.

_You need to stop stressing, babe,_ said the flamboyant voice, airily. Seth couldn't put his finger on the source of this particular manifestation. Perhaps if he could figure out where the _hell_ they all came from . . .

_Like I said! You are sooooo tense,_ the voice shrugged. For some reason, Seth had a strong mental image of someone wearing ugly, chunky heeled boots in unnatural colors. _Besides, it's just a pussy._

Seth very nearly had a heart attack.

"Eiri, is your cat alright?"

"Mm? Silver? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Seth croaked, forgetting for a moment that they couldn't understand him.

I'm going to pretend you don't exist, Seth thought vehemently. I'm going to pretend _none _of you exist and then maybe you'll all go away.

_Ignoring your problems ain't solving them, sugar, _the new voice advised solemnly. The slight lisp made it hard for Seth to take it theriouthly. Er, seriously.

Miss Clara rounded the corner ahead of them. She was not wearing either the sword of L'Arina charm or her black gloves. Seth noticed that her fingernails were filed to elegant points, an odd thing for a maid to do. They looked a little like claws.

"Miss Clara!" Eirika hailed. The woman in question took a single step forward and curtsied.

"Princess Eirika," she replied reverently. She curtsied again to "Tee" without batting an eye. "Princess Tana."

"Miss Clara, have the girls been paired off as necessary?" Eirika asked initially. She crossed her arms, listening sternly.

"Yes, milady," Miss Clara said. "But there will be a shortage of workers for a while."

"I'll inform the nobility that we are now engaging a restricted system until the killer is routed. In the meantime, would you be as kind as to prepare the royal bath for myself and Princess Tana? As you can see, she's worse for wear," "Eiri" asked, grinning slightly. "Tee" harrumphed. The nicknames weren't working for him, he decided. Besides, there was no force in all of Magvel that would convince him to call his bride by "Eiri." It sounded vaguely like an exotic disease. Miss Clara chuckled mechanically, and immediately Seth got chills down his spine.

_You've caught the Eiri,_ the monster joked smugly. _C'mon, that was clever! Disease, chills? Ugh, my genius is wasted on you._

_I thought it was funny, _said inner Natasha kindly.

Quiet! Seth pleaded. This was it. This was how people went insane. They were turned into cats and started hearing voices and then were locked up in the asylums in rooms without corners or pointy objects.

"Of course, Princess. I will see to it immediately," Miss Clara replied respectfully. A light sparked in the Princess' eye.

"Oh, and do you have the master keys on you?"

Master keys? Seth had probably known that there was a set of keys carried by higher staff that opened all castle doors, but it had not occurred to him until now that Miss Clara carried them. The woman in black nodded, pulling a set of keys from what seemed to be nowhere. Why was an obviously suspicious person able to unlock every door in the castle, including the King's? Seth would have grimaced. He wished he could discreetly order a background check on her. A little extra information could easily decide a war.

Eirika drew away and thanked Miss Clara genuinely, then smiled at Tana—A.K.A. "Tee"—and took her hand, adopting a determined stride towards the room that Seth supposedly occupied once or twice a year. Quickly, Seth wondered exactly how often Cormag wrote to him.

Eirika unlocked the rather plain door placed at the end of a hall. Seth had not been a welcome addition to the nobility's wing, despite overwhelming qualifications, and at that time, a skinny not-quite-twenty-year-old General was content to stuff himself in the farthest, smallest, most nondescript corner he could. Seth glanced over his shoulder and around the Tail; Miss Clara was gone.

"Oh, ye _Gods_," Eirika exclaimed. Seth looked away as soon as he set eyes on it. Late at night, when he had been half blind with weariness, it had not seemed quite so . . . attacked.

_Hypocrisy, yes?_ the monster prodded playfully.

"So, do you think we should start with the pile of letters on the desk or the pile of letters on the floor?" Tana asked. She crossed her arms. Seth didn't trust himself to look up, but he could clearly sense her amusement without seeing her face. "Or the ones stuffed under the bed?"

Despite remarkable plainness and only one real function, his room was a mess, strongly resembling Ephraim's own study. The two or three major pieces of furniture were arranged in a circle; a bed for sleeping, a desk for sleeping and also perhaps doing some work and a small chest of drawers to stuff things in, and, if in desperate need, he could pull out the boxes and construct a makeshift bed, also for sleeping. The letters made up everything else. Perhaps the second tier kitchen girls and pageboys had just taken to tossing them in through the door, which was always unlocked. The General had very little to steal and other than his armor and the odd weapon that would end up propped against a wall, too heavy for the average twelve-year-old anyway, nothing of value.

"I'll take the bed," Eirika said decisively, sighing loudly. "I'll need to have a talk with the General the instant he returns. Not that I haven't said that before."

"Alright then. That makes two of us," Tana snickered. The Frelian Princess knelt into a pile of letter that looked like they came from home. She tore one open with practiced ease. "This is from . . . Kotie and Callie?"

There should be a law that says mail isn't to be rummaged through and read, Seth griped inwardly.

Eirika crouched next to Tana, looking over her shoulder.

"Kathie and Collie," she corrected. "It's an a and an o. Just like Seth's handwriting . . . Dearest brother, we're collecting up on that bet you made with us when we were seven . . . Collie can fit an entire baked potato in her mouth in one go and we figure that with ten years of interest you owe us at least 856g . . . we had Marietta do the math . . . Please pay up soon, love and devotion, your darling sisters, Kathie & Collie."

Seth remembered that. He'd been home briefly after being promoted to captain, to share the news. At that time, Colleen had been obsessed fitting objects in her mouth and Seth had playfully wagered about twelve gold pieces (all he had on him at the time) that she couldn't fit a whole potato in her mouth at once. At the time, she had not been able to, and Seth, being a good elder brother, gracefully neglected to collect on the debt. He wondered what sort of interest they were using.

"I didn't know the General had sisters," Tana commented off-handedly. "Or any family at all."

"Neither did I," Eirika mumbled. She reached for a second letter and cracked the seal. "He gets an awful lot of mail."

"Don't you?" Tana asked, tossing envelopes that didn't look like they belonged to Cormag over her shoulder into messier heaps.

"Well, yes, but I'm a Princess. How many people write to Seth . . . oh."

Seth looked up. Yes, it was one of those. Every so often, one of _those_ letters would pop up and he'd innocently open it, read the contents and instantly be scandalized. Tana leaned over Eirika's shoulder, read a few lines and slapped a hand to her mouth.

"Oh my," she stifled an unbecoming snort. "Where do these women get their nerve?"

Eirika's already taut expression twisted into a wrier grin. "Not a woman," she said, pointing towards the bottom of the page. Tana howled with laughter as Seth hung his head.

_I wonder if he's cute,_ mused the newest voice.

Shutting you out, Seth repeated firmly.

"Shut up, shut up, let's find something of Cormag in this mess," Eirika said, swatting her bosom friend on the arm.

Tana took a moment or five to recover. "Oh . . ." she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. "Oh. That's just funny . . . the poor man! Right, right."

Eirika sifted through more garbage and one or two hundred letters from various family members, some of which had only just learned to write. (Although one couldn't tell from his niece Judy's ledger perfect handwriting. Judy was Alisabeth's second daughter and could put as much venom in her three-letter words as Bethy could an entire forty page essay on his many failings as a man.)

The minutes passed. Seth amused himself by going over a letter that Tana had carelessly tossed aside. It was from his mother, about three and a half years ago, desperately wondering his opinion on marriage and if one would happen to him soon, because really there was this adorable girl, not really a girl, more like twenty-two, an old maid really, but there was nothing wrong with her if you could ignore her teensy problem with the color orange, and she was really quite pretty and very sweet and would he be coming home for Yulte? Mum rambled, even in ink.

"We're not finding anything," Tana complained. She threw what looked like several letters from Sister Marietta, his actual sister in the clergy, against the wall.

Eirika frowned, and sighed. "I think I'll get Seth an inbox for a wedding gift."

Tana giggled. "Wait, does he have a diary or something? We could read through that!"

I have a log, Seth thought idly. But that's not really very personal. Or very detailed.

"Seth avoids writing anything for as long as he can," Eirika said dryly. "And even then, it's in shorthand. I sincerely believe he has a grudge against the written word."

"That bad?" Tana asked, furrowing her brow. The zombie goo had crusted onto her hair and clothing now, and she looked thoroughly bedraggled. "He always seemed quite eloquent to me."

"Only when he's speaking," Eirika remarked darkly, rising to her feet. "C'mon. The bath _must_ be ready by now . . . you stink, Tee."

Tana snorted, deviously jostling her companion as she stood. Eirika shoved back, playfully. When not fighting wars, the Princess seemed . . . less focused and more freed. No, that wasn't true either . . . when she wasn't with _him_, that was when she changed. The Eirika that Seth knew and the Eirika that Tana knew were almost completely different women. Even with her brother or with her friends among the knights, Forde, Kyle and the newly fused Franzamelia, Eirika laughed and teased in a way she had never acted with him. Why?

Why was he the different one?

Seth slipped through the door just before Tana shut it behind her. He lingered a safe distance behind the two Princesses, glancing at the back of Eirika's head from time to time. Tana and King Ephraim were exactly Eirika's age; Forde and Kyle a little bit old and Franz not far behind. Prince Innes was only a little less than a year their senior . . . Pontifex L'Arachel was actually two whole years younger . . . He was the outlier.

Ten years ago, Seth realized, totally, as he subconsciously followed Eirika and Tana to the upper baths, I was a man and Eirika was still being cared for by her nursemaid. She was only a year or so older than Colleen and Kathleen—and he thought of _them_ as children! The thought had preoccupied him for some time, but now, now he could see the difference, it was real and obstructive. Am I forcing her into this, without her knowing? I'm the one who's supposed to know what he's doing—if I don't, how can she? Is she too young? Am I too old?

The voices in his head fell unhelpfully silent.

"Are cats allowed in the baths, Eiri?" Tana's chipper voice broke his reverie like a stone through a case of crystal knickknacks.

"I honestly couldn't say," Eirika replied thoughtfully. Seth looked around; he recognized the route. They passed a bored looking guard who instantly straightened up and saluted vigorously.

_You can't watch a maid bathe, boy, much less two, _the drillmaster warned sternly.

I have no intent to, Seth thought back, defending himself. The best way to handle the voices, it seemed, was to reply. Until he could banish them, and as long as he didn't say anything out loud, he would be fine.

_See, sugar, that wasn't so hard,_ the . . . . new voice congratulated.

May as well, Seth gave in. What _are _you?

_Call me . . . Sethina. _

The image in the back of his head was terrifying and wouldn't leave.

Like me . . . if I was a woman, right? he ventured nervously.

_Sure, if that's how you want to think about it. _Sethina did not seem overly concerned with his . . . um, her host's reaction to her presence.

The other voices shuffled, uncomfortably silent. Why wasn't he at home even in his own _mind_? And why were half his voices female?

_Look at your family_, the monster suggested.

Tana and Eirika nodded to the guardswoman, a rather unmemorable ice blue haired woman who was probably named Amy or Ally, briefly checking to see if she had gotten the message circulating through the castle. She nodded affirmatively, giving both Princesses their dues. Tana still had the sword of a Falcoknight strapped to her waist and Eirika, thanks to many, many, relentless hours of calculated wheedling and pleading with Seth over the course of the war, had basic (but effective) command of unarmed self defense. ("Teach me advanced sword technique" had somehow become tantamount to "teach me everything you know," never mind how glad he was now that he had given in.)

But now, at this moment, Seth had a serious dilemma to resolve. The drillmaster was absolutely correct; this was the women's bath and there was no way he be able go in there and live with himself afterward . . .

_The rule only applies to _human_ men, sugar, _Sethina pointed out. _And you don't hafta look, if it bothers you. Stand guard or some shit._

_You can't be serious, _the drillmaster argued, outraged. _Drop and give me twenty!_

Just then, Miss Clara exited silently. The guardswoman shrunk away as subtly as she could. Seth glanced back a moment at the baths to see Tana's navy blue hair disappear around a corner. He took off after Miss Clara, relieved that his decision had been made for him. Now it was time to collect some intelligence on this—and there was no other word for it—creepy woman. If she noticed him, she did not show signs of it. She did not acknowledge him. Miss Clara seemed entirely unconcerned that there was a mangy red cat following her.

Miss Clara made her rounds, doing surprisingly staff-like tasks, without any breaks. Her movements were brisk and robotic, as if she thought that any unnecessary action was absolutely disgusting. When another maid—a friendly young lady that Seth vaguely remembered as the woman who delivered food to him when he forgot that most people ate at a table at previously denoted times—greeted her, Miss Clara simply refused to respond, passing by silently.

Miss Clara's hair swung as she walked, like a whiplike pendulum. It was jetty black like her clothes, and her nose, Seth saw as she stooped to pick up a crumpled scrap of loose paper in the hall, was hawkish in profile. To him, she looked to be at least thirty—a strange age for a woman to be unmarried, in his opinion.

She glanced down at him, coolly. For a moment Seth wondered if _she_ had some sort of enchantment-sensing gift, like the sage Saleh from Caer Pelyn had had—now _he_ would have been handy to have around right now. Quite suddenly, Miss Clara's black-as-night boot appeared out of nowhere and sent him sprawling away from her and onto his back.

"Shoo, cat," Miss Clara barked.

_Get that bitch!_ Sethina ordered enthusiastically.

"Miss Clara!" two voices chimed. Emmie and Janna skidded to a halt, comically colliding into a wall. They jostled around for a few moments, untangling body parts and then stood at firm attention.

"Bad news!" Emmie huffed. "The Duke Renlang of Terscaita has arrived!"

"What?" Miss Clara said, taken by surprise.

_Taken by surprise._ It was astounding, in Seth's opinion.

"The Duke—"

"I heard you. Why? Did not we send—"

"Um," Janna mumbled. "Messenger Jarl has been in this daze since he got back from Palgo. They must not have received King Ephraim's letter of postponement."

"They?" Miss Clara raised an eyebrow.

"The Duke . . . brought his family, ma'am," Janna admitted. She shifted nervously, wringing her apron. Emmie was trembling.

"Ah . . . Prepare rooms for them, I suppose," Miss Clara ordered, massaging her temples. "Will Duchess Nanise and Lady Rizia be taking their own rooms?"

"From the looks of it, the Duke and Duchess will opt to share," Emmie said, meekly. "And the ambassador wants his tea now and we can't handle it."

"Right, I'll see to him. At least someone's on time," Miss Clara muttered cryptically.

That should have meant something. An ambassador had not been mentioned before now. He had not even known that a foreign politician had been scrounged from the other nations to send here. Seth, however, had been stopped cold at the mention of "Duchess" Nanise. The name was familiar. The title was not.

"Go. See to it that the Duke is suitably distracted while a temporary room is prepared. Miss Rosay needs a proving," Miss Clara ordered. Janna and Emmie nodded, dashing off again. Seth made a split decision, following the pair. The pit in his stomach deepened and he hoped that it was not so. He _hoped_ it wasn't so.

Seth trotted along in between Emmie and Janna, almost running. Emmie noticed him first, and when he looked up at her, she was smiling. Janna, though, was too preoccupied to see him.

The two maids took a series of shortcuts that Seth had not known even existed. As they emerged in the audience chamber, occupied by various courtiers and, of course, King Ephraim, rapidly conversing with a frazzled looking aide, Seth resolved to have both girls map out their routes for him on blueprints. No wonder there were always servants hanging around—they could cross the castle in mere seconds.

The Duke in question was off to the east side of the hall, flanked by two women—one was smaller, and resembled him closely, with sea-green hair and a slender face. Duke Renlang appeared to be at least forty, with a peaceful expression and composure. The armor he wore was real, complete with a nasty scar in the painted dark violet metal. A bow was slung on the girl's back, and a quiver at her waist, testifying against complete defenselessness. The second woman, though, couldn't have been more startlingly different than any other lady there if they had _tried_. She was naturally tall, with long fingers coiled around the sword at her waist. Her dress was as rich as the younger girl's, although the slit up the side revealed thigh-high boots. Her forehead was high and sloped into a sharp pointed nose.

It had been three or four years since Seth had seen Nanise, but he remembered the way she coiled her long crimson hair on her head, like a small crown on her head. She was talking happily with the Duke—clearly her husband—_who was twice her age._

The fur on his back prickled. That was _his_ sister the old man touched at night! If he had been normal shaped, he would have marched over there and _demanded _an answer. Or hit him. Very suddenly, though, Seth's second favorite emotional state—hypocrisy—reared its ugly hea—

NO NO NO he was NOT giving hypocrisy its own entity! NO. There needed to be a sign outside his head, premises full, no new voices allowed.

_Geez, psycho,_ Sethina commented.

I'm just being careful, Seth replied defensively. I'm already going insane. I don't need to go any further.

Nonetheless, the memory came. Really, it had been Eirika's fault, although admittedly he hadn't been trying very hard to deflect her. She was very pretty and when a beautiful woman kisses you in a dark, empty hall, one just doesn't push her away. Against a wall, maybe, but not _away_. There may have not even been a wall involved—the memory was fuzzy on the specifics, mostly because he hadn't really been paying attention to the specifics, unless the Princess counted as one large specific altogether.

Seth did remember, in great clarity, being bodily attacked by the King, who had appeared around the corner just in time to witness a little bit more of an impassioned move. (At that point in time, Seth's hand may have actually been up Eirika's skirt yet, although Gods forbid he ever admit it.) Much yelling and screaming later, the mess was sorted out, but only now, gazing on the face of Nanise's husband, did Seth realize why King Ephraim, a normally rational man who thought of him as both a trusted advisor and a brother, would be driven to attack anything that had any sort of sexual intention on his sister.

Because he really wanted to shake this man down. Intimidate him a little. Assert the hierarchy of importance. Anything.

Seth's narrow fury was jarred when a pair of chubby hands reached down and picked him up. Emmie cradled him idly, waiting for an opening. Servants must time their crossings to be as obscure as possible, Seth thought off-handedly. Humiliation set in, at about this time. This Duke Renlang was twice Nani's age, true, with what looked like a grown daughter—but he himself was half again _his_ intended's age.

_See, this is a classic case of an alpha-male complex, _Sethina griped.

_Nah,_ the monster disagreed vocally. _What we got here is an older brother complex. _

I have _no_ complexes except for the one that makes me hear you all, Seth stated. If you have any advice for that one, feel free to comment and leave.

_Ha!_ Sethina said triumphantly catching him. _Hell no._

It was worth trying.

The implications of Nani's unfortunate arrival surfaced as the initial shock, outrage and surge of over-protectiveness subsided. Nani had only trained for knighthood, but never achieved it. Now he saw why.

He supposed that the letter inviting him to the wedding, and the letter asking him why he hadn't been there, were sitting abandoned in his room somewhere.

The crowd began to jostle, Emmie along with them. The last time he'd been in this expansive hall had been . . . three nights ago, he estimated, when Lute had told him of her vision. Only three days as a cat? It felt much longer. So much had happened since then! Seth began to get worried; how long would Lune leave him as a cat? How long would it take for the assassin to achieve his (or her) goals?

. . . how long would he be a _cat_?

Emmie and Janna curtsied rather abruptly, jarring Seth. He was getting used to such rough handling. At close range, Nani looked pleasantly amused, with her arm curled around that of her much older husband. She was laughing at the end of something, perhaps a witty comment or a joke. Nani has always been the best actress in the family, Seth thought suspiciously.

Duke Renlang, though, he had to admit was the sturdy sort of man that Seth himself admired, resembling the bearing of General Duessel. His daughter—a lass _far_ too old to be twenty-year-old Nani's natural daughter—had good posture as well, and looked to be reasonably intelligent.

"Preparations are being made, milady," Emmie chirped, bobbing again. Seth felt sick. "Your arrival was just so sudden, we hadn't anything prepared . . ."

"Yes, we know now," Renlang chuckled. "I suppose that we were too anxious to accompany the king to Rausten that we did not stop to think."

"Nonsense, Ren. You're never wrong," Nani said playfully. "My brother would call it miscommunication. I was looking forward to introducing you in person too . . . I suppose that we'll just have to go home to do that, now, seeing as this whole digression is his fault."

Bad, Seth thought. This is bad. Nani could ruin everything if she goes home.

_Worry about that later, _the monster advised.

Emmie and Janna looked at each other nervously, obviously out of context.

"Then you will be leaving right away, milord, or . . .?" Janna trailed off.

"Hm. Rizia?" Renlang turned to face the other young woman, his daughter. Now that he thought about it, Seth saw a vague resemblance to the royal family—unsurprising, really. Most of the nobility was related in some way. "Are you up for another trip?"

"Oh, of course, father," Rizia said. Her voice cracked on a note of hesitation. Her mask slipped, revealing a very fatigued girl pretending to be as hardy as her stepmother.

Nani picked up on it right away. "Ren, don't you think this is a good opportunity to speak with Princess Eirika?"

"The Princess?" Renlang raised an eyebrow.

"My brother's bride, Ren," Nani reminded him, subtly elbowing him in the ribs. "Remember the letter from Elsie? He's marrying Princess Eirika. I always knew that he would do well if he stopped obsessing over his duty long enough to try."

Thank you, Nanise, Seth thought, nonplussed. Everyone seemed to think that was all he was about, work and fighting in defense of the crown. There was a tremendous amount of responsibility involved—no one really understood quite how much, except perhaps Ephraim, who assigned it all. What was wrong with devoting your life to a cause?

Behind them all, the crowd began to diminish as the courtiers departed for a very late midday meal—no one ate until the king ate, and he could go for half a day without food and not suffer any negative consequences. Seth glanced at an empty throne.

"Milord? Milady?" Janna quipped, hopelessly awaiting a definitive answer. Her freckles scrunched together on her face.

"We can stay a night or two, can't we, Ren?" Nani said, her voice laced with the low tones of coercion.

"Yes, papa, can't we?" Rizia pleaded, twisting her fingers. Her eyes grew large and watery.

". . ." the Duke sighed. "I suppose a night wouldn't hurt too much. But we cannot stay away from our lands too long without need, understand?"

Seth felt a presence on his head; glancing up, he realized that it was Emmie, idly scratching behind his ears.

"Very well, milord, miladies," Janna bobbed. Emmie quickly copied her. "Um, I think that lunch is being served in the Lesser Hall. If milord would follow me . . ."

Janna and Emmie broke off as Janna led the Duke and Seth's sister to the Lesser Hall. Nani could handle herself, he hoped. And she would be informed about the killer eventually. Maybe even before she was killed. That would be ideal.

Seth did not know where Emmie was going, and struggling did not appeal to him in the least. The Great Hall seemed to have numerous entrances and exits that he did not know about, which did not do anything to help his anxiety. The exit Emmie took seemed to be well-used though, a door strategically opening from a mosaic of an actual door. It slid back and aside, confirming the long legacy of magical architecture that had gone into Castle Renais. It was part of the reason the Castle had actually survived the invasion.

He added "updating the map of castle hanging in room" to his to-do-once-human-again list.

The passage Emmie took him through was dark, but she seemed to know where she was going. The passage opened up into a small doorway leading into another, larger corridor. The walls here were bare, like everywhere else that the nobles didn't see. There were no windows, but Seth could see the light from one around a corner; Emmie turned right and then into a wing of the castle that Seth had never seen ever, in his entire life.

It was lit by hanging grate-lamps, a common sight in the deeper castle locations. Women of Emmie's station milled about, sewing or chatting or sleeping or all three at once—which confounded Seth, especially. One read a book aloud to a few others gathered around her. Emmie bent over to let Seth jump down, which he did eagerly.

"Emmie, is that the kitty that got you in trouble with the cook?" a brown haired woman asked, apparently mending a hole in a brocade dress.

"Yeah," Emmie admitted, flushing. She nearly flew across the room to a little wood stove and the cupboards next to it. "Did anyone just finish using a good china set? Drake the Fake wants tea."

"Mm, I think Cisara just washed the gardenia pattern," a sewing maid supplied. She seemed utterly disinterested in both gardenias and china sets, totally absorbed in what looked like something that someone had worn during the war while being blasted with an Elfire at the same time. Remarkably, it looked like Kyle's uniform.

This must be the maids' common room, much like how the mess hall was for knights. Inwardly, Seth wondered how all these girls could be so indolent right now—wasn't there always work to do?

"Thanks, Wellgunde," Emmie replied back, swinging open a cupboard door and standing on tiptoe to get at the top shelf. Just as Wellgunde described, a mostly washed set of gardenia-patterned china.

"No problem. Is that the infamous 'Silver the Cat' that has our cookie in an uproar?" Wellgunde asked, snickering amusedly.

"Yes," Emmie flushed.

"Hmm, why is he called Silver again?" a baggy-eyed young woman said, tilting her head curiously. Like the other women, she was perched on a wooden stool, save for the two on the ragged couch and another lying on a bed in the corner, arm over her eyes.

"Oh, look at it, Cera! His fur? Isn't that the exact same shade as Sir Seth's hair?" yet another young woman said, bursting into laughter over her novel. "Honestly, you have _no_ imagination."

I'm not hearing this, Seth convinced himself.

Cera stuck out her tongue. "Go back to your Erina-novel, Leia."

"You're so innocent," Leia jibed. She was one of the women curled comfortably on a couch cushion, leather-bound book in her lap. Leia grinned mischievously from behind her book. "Do you think it's the same color all over?"

"On the man?" Cera asked, clearly confused.

I am _not_ hearing this, Seth repeated loudly within his own head.

"No, Cera, on the cat," said the other woman on the couch, who had been listening to Leia read aloud. "Of _course_ the man! I'll bet anything that he's got the fire down below."

"Sure, we'll just ask the Princess when she finds out," Leia snorted, kicking her couch-companion. "If she _ever _finds out."

"Tsk. If I were her, I'd be researching that subject as soon as I could," Wellgunde rejoined playfully, gesturing with her needle. Leia cackled sharply.

Poor baggy-eyed Cera flushed maroon. Seth would have joined her, had he that capability. It was enough that his ears were now burning. By now, most of the room was in laughter. It was a facet of the castle staff that most thought didn't exist, including him. Seth had never heard a woman, not even Tethys and her negotiable reputation, tell a crude joke. Apparently, he had not been listening to the right women.

Emmie had been giggling as well, although she valiantly pretended not to. Seth felt somewhat betrayed. She did something more that Seth couldn't see from his vantage, and he concentrated on that to detract from his great and all-consuming embarrassment at the hands of bawdy kitchen maids. It was probably something normal, like arranging it on a tray, probably pulled from the same cupboard. Seth hated being small. In fact, now that he thought on it, he had hated being small even when he had been a child, especially that one wretched year that Alisabeth had been just two inches taller than him. It had been very nice coming home after being knighted and finding that he had gained a foot on her.

_The look on her face was the best part,_ the monster snickered. _Oh, but right after being able to reach things on high shelves and hold them over her head._

How do you know about that? Seth wondered briefly, but was distracted as Emmie suddenly disappeared from sight. Glad to get away from the giggling common room, he turned to follow her out the door and through the hall to the kitchen, where she picked up some tea from a frazzled looking third-tier girl with very nice shoes. Seth had found that he'd been paying more attention to shoes since they had started to kick him. As a man, he had never paid much attention to any shoes other than the ones on his own feet. But now? Now, shoes were deadly.

Emmie took another shortcut under an archway that probably shouldn't have existed but did. Seth remembered briefly, as she kicked (apparently it counted as knocking) a door that looked to lead into a suite in the castle.

A hooded young man answered it and bowed her in. A vassal, Seth guessed. From the lump in his jacket, Seth guessed that he was carrying a small knife there and another pair in his boots, judging from the make and shape of the lad's footwear. And . . . oh, stilettos hidden in the young man's long, dark sleeves.

_Impressive, _Sethina applauded.

At a square table draped in a dark cloth, a druid sat observing something Seth could not see. He held a deck of some sort of occult cards in his hands, though, that Seth could see clearly. The man himself was violet haired, as were most Grads—Gradians, now, Seth supposed, and Grad-Renaitians.

"Your tea, milord," Emmie curtsied gracefully. She waited until the ambassador indicated a patch of table to put her tray upon. Her wait was in vain; the ambassador seemed to have gotten it into his head that Emmie did not exist. He reached for the cup and poured the tea himself, taking a sip and then returning it to the tray. Seth disliked the man immediately.

"Lord Drake?" Emmie hazarded. The young man with the hidden knives and a hood drew one such blade and held it to Emmie's arm. She gasped.

"Do not disturb his Excellency," he warned in a gravelly voice. Seth looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of the young man's face. All he could see was the shadow of a mouth and nose. However, from his angle—Seth's eyes widened. Dangling from a dark chain was a charm—a miniature broadsword no different from Miss Clara's.

What in the name of St. Latona . . . ?

"Oh, Casimir," Lord Drake drawled. His voice made Seth's fur crawl along his back. "Stop that, this instant. Put that over there and be gone."

Emmie set the tray on a spot on the table that was apparently vacant. When Casimir did not replace his knife into his jacket, Seth began to hiss. Lord Drake narrowed his eyes at the small creature at Emmie's feet, and moved a pearl white hand to cover his face, in disgust. Lord Drake looked to be around Seth's own age, and wore his hair as many old Grad aristocrats did, long and in his eyes.

"Get that disgusting creature away from me, Casimir," he ordered, as casually as he sipped tea. Only the grimace on his face implied any emotion.

Casimir made as though he would slit Seth's neck, until Emmie gasped.

"Oh, no, he's m—the Princess's cat, she'll be dreadfully upset!" Emmie begged, quickly. Her hands found Casimir's forearm and pushed it gently into his chest. Lord Drake frowned.

"Leave me, then," Lord Drake demanded lazily. Emmie curtsied again, and almost ran out of the room. Seth followed closely to her heels, taking one last glance at Casimir's chest, where the little charm lay underneath his heavy cloak and jacket.

What was the connection there?

**..0..**

Johnny had seen nothing, nor had any of the other horses. The only new things they had to report were of the Duke Renlang's horses, not interesting in the slightest. He followed Eirika for the rest of the day, patiently watching (and listening) as she explained to Tana her newfound passions of domestic organization and novel-writing. Tana had been thrilled with the last one and had promptly bought most of Eirika's library—five whole books under her pseudonym, which Seth had not gotten a close look at.

Also, he'd tagged along for her dinner—mostly for the scraps, but to watch over her as well. The Lesser Hall was still cavernous—such was the make of Castle Renais. But here the dinner table was always set up in here, since the King would most often eat in this room. Eirika took her place at his side—Tana occupied the space next to her. At Eirika's request, Seth found out, Nanise and her family sat at the left of the King.

"Milady, I cannot say how pleased I am to hear that my brother has actually decided to marry," Nanise said, smiling her impenetrable I'm-so-impossible-to-figure-out smile that she used when she was teasing someone. Only Seth seemed to recognize it as such, though. "I thought our family line would never continue."

"Surely he has a brother?" Eirika asked, laughing. Seth sat on her lap, as inconspicuously as he could, playing the part of a pet cat interested solely in food.

"Oh, no, milady," Nanise shook her head. "He's our sole hope. Unless our Dame Elspeth can scare a man into taking up her name upon marriage."

"It can't be so bad to have our name, can it, Nani? Er, lady mother," Rizia said, correcting her informality hurriedly. Her voice was light, like a small bird afraid to perch.

"No titles are allowed at my table," Ephraim said off-handedly, as if he were used to reminding people of it. He reached to hack off a bit of chicken for his plate.

"Teehee," Tana chirped, airily as ever. Seth noticed a mysterious absence of her over-abundant hair for the first time—all that was left was a thin pair of pigtails coiled around the back of her head in a bun. She'd borrowed a more formal, white and pink dress from Eirika—the two girls had the good fortune of being of similar build. "I always liked that about you, Ephraim."

Eirika laughed, curling her fingers around Seth's neck. "What of your other sisters? Tell me more of my fiancé's family. I've heard nearly nothing of it."

"Hm," Nanise weighed the question. "Seth probably hasn't mentioned pig-ball, has he? It's an old family tradition of ours."

"Pig-ball?" Eirika echoed. Seth closed his eyes.

Oh, Gods, no.

"Yes," Nani grinned broadly. Even Renlang looked amused. Nanise, although the closest Seth's family had come to pure and perfect nobility, had a rough streak comparable to Ephraim's. "We—all of us except father and the littlest ones—divided into teams. I was usually on Alisabeth's team—she's a year younger than Seth. Dame Elspeth was the other captain. We had this inflated pig's bladder that the teams have to carry to their enemies' posts. It was great fun in the autumn, when there were these great big piles of leaves to jump into . . . Seth, obviously, was the best. He always won, too."

"What team is he on?" Eirika asked, fascinated.

Nani shrugged. "His own. Absolutely merciless. But he hasn't played in years. I'm looking forward to going home and challenging him. See if he's gotten soft in his old age!"

_Unlikely_, the monster smirked, confidently.

Damn, thought Seth. He held in his panic with practiced ease. Nani would go to Palgo and ruin everything. He _had _to stop her.

_You'll think of something, _inner Natasha reassured him. _I have faith._

Thank you, Seth replied dutifully.

"La—Nani, father, would it be alright if I, ah," Rizia unsuccessfully tried to hide her yawn. "If I went back to the guest chamber, now?"

"Of course," Renlang said, for the first time that night. He smiled at his daughter. The King nodded his head as well, wishing the girl a good night.

Nani seemed to be the answer to Eirika's prayers. By the end of evening, Eirika knew as much about Seth's childhood and family as Nani could fit into one evening. Seth was getting ready to kill her, if the assassin didn't do it by mistake. Even worse, though, was that Eirika seemed to think that every terribly embarrassing story was funnier than the last one. By the look in Eirika's eye, Seth guessed that he would have a lot to answer for when Lune turned him back.

_If_ she turned him back.

Finally, Ephraim decided to finish up some last minute things and then go to bed. The rest of the table rose with him, since a meal was done when the King was done. Eirika bid a good night to Nanise and Renlang, and followed her brother and Tana. Seth leapt away before she could get it in her head to carry him. He had a little business to attend to.

Unfortunately, he had no idea where to go to find her. Seth followed a kitchen girl—he recognized her as Rosay and was immediately pleased with himself for remembering the face and name of someone he'd normally ignore—through the shortcuts which were rapidly becoming more and more familiar. In no time, he'd be able to navigate through Castle Renais at lightning speed. Or as close as he could come on stubby little cat legs. Tonight, he thought vaguely, he would stalk Miss Clara—track her moves.

This train of thought was thrown off track.

"Seth, is it?"

He turned his head in the direction of Caramia's disdainful voice. She was sitting in a nook formed by a lost stone in the wall, scrunched up. Her eyes glowed yellow in the shadows, sucking up what light there was to be had from the hanging grates and torches.

"Yes?" Seth replied guardedly.

"You're . . . hunting some sort of . . . 'assassin,' yes?" she asked. She said the word as if she was unfamiliar with the term.

"Yes, that's true," Seth said, curious as where she was going with this. "Where did you hear that?"

"The horses were talking and a mouse heard," Caramia said succinctly. "He tried to use it to pique my interest long enough for him to negotiate freedom. No go."

Caramia licked her chops. Seth shuddered.

"I'll be frank, Caramia, what's your interest in this?" Seth asked forthright. "I'm not going—"

"Forget it, handsome," Caramia said flippantly. "I was just desperate for a male. It's been a while. But we're wasting time. I found something that might help."

"What is it?"

"Mm . . ." she squirmed out of the nook. "It's best if you come see."

Seth followed her, the Tail held high. It was funny. He'd nearly forgotten about the Tail until he saw Caramia's. Looking up, Seth could see banners on the walls, now, Renaitian banners. In ten minutes, they were on carpet.

"Where are you leading me?" Seth demanded after some time. Most of the nobility was now milling about in their parlors or chambers and the kitchen girls must have been still cleaning up the Lesser Hall. It seemed very empty in the Royal Wing.

"Not far," Caramia chimed. "Here, round this corner."

Caramia trotted ahead to look and then sat down, patiently waiting for Seth. He caught up with her in seconds.

A young woman half-lay, half-sat against a wall, her teal-colored hair strewn across her face and shoulders. She was very still and her head was bowed, although Seth could see her shock-white skin through her wisps of bangs. Her arms clutched her belly, and though she wore red, the red seemed too dark across her arms and breast. Like . . .

"Ye Gods!" he gasped, realizing who lay dying on the floor. "Rizia!"

**..0..**

**This chapter is dedicated to therealAnna. May you find a guy who is both a math nerd _and_ 5'10". **


End file.
